Siris of Tevinter
by Valadilen
Summary: After a darkspawn attack, Siris, a slave elf from Tevinter, is left for dead. Is she corrupt by the Blight? Is she free? What is she suppose to do now? She goes on a journey to figure these things out. Between meeting extraordinary people, discovering foreign cultures and battling vicious men, will Siris find answers to her questions? (Dragon Age AU, rated M for safety)
1. Prologue

**_Original Character in a Dragon Age (Bioware) Alternate Universe_**

 ** _Prologue!_**

 ** _Enjoy!_**

* * *

That was it.

She was screwed.

Dead.

Done.

Doomed.

A horde of darkspawn attacked, killed almost everyone. The noble was dead. She was no better. Threw against a rock, then she fell in the road's gutter. And one of the darkspawn with pointy ears vomit his guts on her, as a Warden reduce him to shreds. The human did not see tiny elf suffering in the gutter. The heat of the battle was too great!

At that moment, Siris couldn't move. Her body was plagued by a terrible corruption, pain froze her limbs. She couldn't cry or scream. Helpless. Desparate. _Look at me! I'm here!_ She wanted to shout: no voice, no noise. Just silent slow, painful death. Her bones broke and mended back. She was burning, freezing, sinking in a sea of acid; salt on wounds and ashes in her lungs. Her brain was too big or was her skull too small? Her eyes were ready to explode! Siris felt her body's insides being tore upside down. The excruciating suffering went on and on, for what seemed to be forever. Suddenly, something inside her cracked. Silence. Peace. Calm. Rest. No breath. Body sinking in the earth, yet remaining still as stone. No Pain. She was suffering, no more. Her eyes slowly closed, she felt like falling asleep. But was she asleep? She could not know.

As the Grey Wardens burnt the bodies, they did not notice her: they left never knowing her fate.

It was morning when they were attacked, but when Siris opened her eyes again, it was pitch black. She stood up, wondering, questioning. What happen? No pain, no suffering. But the embers on the burnt bodies proved none of what she felt and saw were part of a dream.

The moon was absent, but the stars were high and gorgeous. Why was she feeling so light? She looked at herself. Nothing worth noting, beside the blood tainting what used to be some sort of clothing. Her master never bothered giving real clothes to his slaves; he would, in fact, enjoy seeing them in rags, sacks initially meant for potatoes or, in worst case, completely naked. Siris had the luxury to wear a sack for potatoes: she wasn't pretty enough to be naked; which wasn't a bad thing.

Wait.

If the master and all his kin got killed that would mean… no. Surely there were laws to prevent a slave being free because of his or hers masters' death…

Wait again! She was in the middle of nowhere, no witnesses. Why should she care for laws that worked against her interests? New thoughts, new thinking. She was not used to think for herself. Was it safe, could she think for herself?

The carriage was heading to the Free Marches, before the attack. Her master wanted to help his magister friend with a "slave problem" in a city named "Kirkwall". The elf in question ran away during a qunari attack; at least that was what Siris heard. But no matter.

As far as everyone was concerned: she died with the master.

She was free!

Nevertheless, Siris didn't look the part. She looked in fact, like a blood-covered slave. Her appearance was screaming "MURDEROUS ELVEN SLAVE ON THE RUN!". That will be what people think seeing her like that. A slave murdering her master's family to be free; and continuing her bloodthirsty journey to revenge! Siris did not care for revenge: survival came first! She wanted a quiet life. Not serving, not being served. However, she couldn't reach that goal like this. She could not decently go on a journey for freedom in these rags, and certainly not covered in blood.

Blood.

Wait.

 _Darkspawn_ _blood_. She was sure it was darkspawn blood all other her body. There was no way she wasn't corrupted. Will she have turn into one of these monsters? Will she die? What about the pain? Where did it go? Was it normal to feel nothing after such excruciating suffering?

" _Stop thinking!_ " She cried. "Focus. Clean first; questions later."

The carriage was still there. The Wardens took the food, but there were the master's daughters clothes. Humans were larger than elves, but these girls were _huge_. No dresses would fit Siris properly. The young elf looked around; there was a woman in the master's personal guard, wasn't there? She looked in the guards' supplies cart. The armour burnt with the guardswoman, but she did not wear all her clothes during the attack, did she?

" _Ma serannas_ …" Siris muttered as she found women clothing. "Thank you, whoever might be watching over me…"

Was it the Maker? Andraste? Fen'Harel or Mythal, perhaps? Siris did not know, nor did she care: she was alive and had something decent to put on her back.

But before doing that, she needed to clean up. She recalled a river they crossed before the attack, not far from here. However, if she had to go there, she had to take everything she could, here. There was no way she was going back to this dreadful place.

In the carriage and cart, she found pieces of leather armour: not much, just greaves, gauntlets and a pauldron. She took a belt to which she attached a carved dagger. In a shoulder bag, the young elf put the clothes, pieces of torn up clothing, gold and jewels she could sell later.

Then she ran to the river. It was dark, and no one was around. So, she went under the bridge, hide her things, took off what was supposed to be cloths, and went into the water.

" _Kaffas!_ " She cried.

It was freezing cold!

But being covered in blood was _not_ an option.

As Siris rubbed her body with the cold water; she comforts herself by thinking it was not as bad as getting her inside torn up by corruption.

Now _that_ was a concern. What was she supposed to do now? She took everything she could from the carts, but will she need all of this? Will she turn or will she die before ever hoping to survive? She tried to judge how she was feeling. No pain. No weird sensations. No bad thoughts. No voices.

Perhaps she could look for Grey Warden to be sure. Surely it was better to be put down like an animal rather than getting people sick and start a new Blight. That was it then. She was going to look for Grey Wardens. They went to the Free Marches too. Perhaps it wasn't too late to pick up their trail?

Siris put her clothes on. Underwear were strange: she never wore any before. It was comfortable, though. The pants were oddities too, and so was the proper white shirt. However, they made her feel much safer than before. She struggled to put the pieces of armour, but managed to get it right in the end.

She had no map, only her memories. It will have to suffice.

As she took her first steps towards the Free Marches, Siris realized she was taking her first steps as a free elf.

* * *

 **Chapter 1: coming soon!**


	2. Chapter 1 : Marel's Alienage

_**Siris (OC), Chapter 1.**_

 _ **Dragon age (Bioware) Alternate Univers**_

 _ **Music: "Umbrella" J2 ft Jazelle**_

* * *

The situation was quite embarrassing.

After a night-long and a whole morning of travel, Siris finely arrived in a small town with a watchtower, a _Chantry_ and many merchants. No one was in the fields: did the wardens tell the people about the darkspawns in the region? It was possible. But what put Siris in a delicate position were not the darkspawns. Indeed, since the beginning she assumed she was still in Tevinter. The things is: she was not. It wasn't like her master would tell any of his slaves about their exact location; but that was really embarrassing. At a point, Siris thought her Master had no freaking idea where _he_ was.

The guard at the city's gate smiles awkwardly as he broke the news. Was she on lyrium or something? At any case, she told him she was looking for supplies and information about the Wardens. Since these reasons were no cause of concern, the human let her in; not before telling her: "don't cause trouble, elf."

So, Siris made her first steps in a city as a free elf. She to admit it felt nice. Although she was in a Free Marches' town, without a master to decide for her what to do. She never expected being free to be so… confusing. But nature took the decision for her when her stomach grumbled like there was no tomorrow. Food. The girl needed food. But what to eat? The merchants were selling many different things that Siris had no idea what they tasted like. But first things first: she need money. She had the gold and the jewels from her dead master and his family. But all of that was from Tevinter. No Marcher would want that. Besides, from the suspicious looks she was receiving, maybe an elf, woman, stranger, with so much fortune on herself was a bit too obvious. People might get the wrong ideas, and Siris wanted to avoid problems as much as possible.

Also, she needed to get information about the Wardens. They had more than a day ahead of her… And now she knew she was already in the Free Marches, the Wardens could have go in any directions.

The question for now was how to get money to buy what kind of food? And who would sell her things? The answer was quick to come.

"Knife-ears to the alienage!" A man shouted, although not to Siris.

"But I work here!" The elf replied. "The alienage is far away and I don't have time to go there, buy my meal and come back!"

"Your problem: not mine!"

"Humans! All the same!"

Siris hasted her steps to meet up with the elven man.

"This man doesn't want you to buy things at his store?" She asked.

"Of course not, I'm a "knife-ear". And he won't sell you anything either." He said. "Wait. Your accent… are you… tevinter?"

"Is it _that_ obvious?"

"In these parts, yes. We watch out for slavers. Come! I'll show you around. Elves must help each other."

The man's name was Geron and used to live in Denerim, Ferelden, in the South. But the last Blight made him seek out a new home for his family. Turns out to be another alienage in a small Marcher town. Not really an improvement according to the elf. But it was better than getting crushed by an Archdemon.

As he said to the merchant, the alienage was really, _really_ , far from the city-centre. It took them thirty minutes to reach the elven settlement with Geron's shortcuts. And these shortcuts involved trespassing in humans in-properties gardens. Once in the elven sanctuary, Siris discovered a city in the city. Although, smaller, poorer and with much less merchants. A giant tree was growing in the middle of the market place and the local elves apparently worship it. Paintings have been drawing on the trunk, and candles were lit all around the roots. The tree was magnificent. And if Siris had it right, it was an attempt to reconnect with the elven culture; now crushed by the southern and northern chantry. The Master had Siris studied ancient elven language and culture; so he wouldn't have to do the effort. Although did the young elf believed in the old Gods? She did not know. However, she liked the idea of Mythal watching other her.

"So you are an ex-slave." Geron repeated after Siris told him a little about herself. "And I thought my life was tough… Tell me: why exactly are you looking for Grey Wardens? The Blight is no more, and I heard the last group of Darkspawns around here have been dealt with."

Siris could not decently say "because I think I might be sick of the Blight." Especially to someone who escaped the last great Blight the South had to fight. And about the whole "the last of the darkspawns have been dealt with" … She wasn't convinced. Then again, her reasons were unknown to her new elven friend.

"It's the only way for me to never become a slave again." Siris said.

It wasn't _completely_ a lie. Tevinter slavers avoided Grey Wardens. The first reason was because the Wardens did not treat kindly people enslaving others for a living. The second was because according to the slavers, Grey Wardens had "bodies of poor quality". Only the spirits knew what that meant. However, Siris had no intention joining the cause. She just wanted answers, so she could start building her quiet life.

"I hear you." Geron said, agreeing with her. "Well, in my book, Grey Wardens are Heroes. I'll go ask some friends if they know any Wardens in the area. But for now, we need to fill our empty bellies."

Geron was living in a tiny house with his wife, Shala, and their daughter, Kala. They did not have much, but were happy to share. Once Geron told his family about Siris, Shala became a friend.

"My mother was a slave." She said with extreme sadness, and a strange accent Siris never heard before. But it was Southern alright. "For the money, I know someone. But it's best if you don't trade all the jewelleries at once. It will raise attention."

After what could have been the best lunch Siris ever had in her entire life: vegetable soup with bread; Shala brought her to another part of the alienage. The woman was not, unlike her husband, Ferelden: she was born in a small village in Orlais; and worked as a maid in Val Royeaux all her life, before meeting Geron.

The "someone she knew" was a shifty extremely nervous elf who despit is ligne of work, were terrible in business. Siris was pretty sure the neckless she exchanged was worth less than two hundred gold. But Shala whispered to just go with it. There was no point of being honest in her current situation.

Then, they went to the market. They bought Siris a better bag and filled it with supplies. Siris also bought a coat, a set of extra clothes, traveling boots and a map of the Free Marches. Siris couldn't read modern language: her master taught her only old Teveene and elven. But Shala was kind enough to put markers where the main cities were.

Then, Geron came back home with news.

"The Grey Wardens have a keep in Ansburg, but it's too far from here. Besides, no Wardens have been spotted there for months. My friends told me you'll have better luck in Kirkwall or Ostwick."

"If you stop at Kirkwall, be careful. We heard the Templars there are dangerous. And so are the mages they are guarding."

"I'm sorry, I'm not sure to know what you are talking about." Siris awkwardly said.

Geron and Shala looked at each other, surprised. Then remembered Siris was not from the south.

"The Chantry does not rule the countries of the South, but it controls the mages and the Templars." Shala explained. "These protect mages and normal people from the effects of wrong magic by locking the mages in Circles of Magi. But if mages aren't in a Circle, that means they are apostates. And these guys are dangerous. It is said they use blood magic on travellers!"

Siris knew blood magic alright. Her clothing and armour hid the scars on her wrist. If the templars were suspicious and dangerous about it, it was maybe best to never revealed these dreadful marks; publicly at the very least.

It was time for Siris to leave. She promised to come back to Marel visit Geron and Shala when her search for the Grey Warden will be done. But Maker have mercy! She will wish she never said that. She will wish she never ask help from these wonderful people. However, when she left Marel for the first time, she had no idea what future she was heading to.

As Geron suggested, Siris took a shuttle to Kirkwall. Her objective was Ostwick. If by any chance a Grey Warden was lingering in the first City, then she will know for sure if she sick. During her day with Geron and Shala, she made sure to touch no one, to share nothing she had eaten, not even the glass she drank in.

Her spirit was a little rested. Even if she was far from her comfort zone, even if freedom was scary, she knew she could do this. There was no other way.

* * *

 _ **"Chapter 2: The Path to Kirkwall" coming soon!**_


	3. Chapter 2 : The Road to Kirkwall

_**Siris, a young elf, escaped tevinter slavery when her master and his family got slaughtered by darkspawn on their way to Kirkwall. Not knowing if she has the Blight, she's now heading in the same direction in hope too meet a Grey Warden. On the road, Siris meet new people, and possibly new friends.**_

 **Siris-Oc.**

 **Dragon Age (Bioware) Alternate Universe.**

* * *

The shuttle to Kirkwall could carried six awkwardly uncomfortable passengers. Siris never took a shuttle: when the master would take his slaves somewhere, there usually would walk (or run) behind the carriage they were chained to. It was a terrible way to travel. Todays, heading to Kirkwall, Siris was _sitting_ in the middle of humans. None seemed to care she was an elf, which was a rather good change. Tevinter was terrible with elves, but Siris was wondering if being enslaved wasn't as good as being shunned.

None of these humans were eager to have conversation. The only one who would was an old human scholar _way_ too talkative for his own good. At a point, he thought Siris was interested about his books and started to tell her all what he knew about the elven culture. The young elf said nothing: she did not find the opportunity to cut his flow of words. The thing is, she was _not_ interested by the books: she was merely curious (in a true ex-slave fashion) about how delicate it must be to clean them. And she was certainly _not_ interested in what this scholar knew about the elven culture: he was taking superior looks, but only showed Siris how little he actually knew. The young woman studied ancient elves and tevinters for _years_ , so her master would not have to bother. She knew a _great deal_ about her people. She did not need a human taking on airs when he was nothing more but a fraud. The _Vallaslin_ made of elfroot and halla horns powder? Blood was the only ingredient. The elven tattoos being proof of human supremacy? You _have_ to be an idiot to believe that. Siris had her tattoos on her face. Her master's daughters thought Siris might feel "like" home with these markings; so they copied some with _Vallaslin_ on Siris face. Fortunately, the design they picked out of ignorance was dedicated to Mythal. Siris was not much of a believer, but she often found herself admitting that having Falon'Din's (the God of Death) markings would be terrible: it would send the wrong message. Or revealed something unfortunate about her. Neither effects were good.

"Shut up or I'll throw you out in the wild."

The man who growled the threat was sitting right next to Siris. Until now, he was sleeping quietly. He was a rather tall and strong human, a warrior: he was holding his sword and shield like his life depended on it. His skin was white, his hair and growing beard were black. Perhaps was he around thirty or forty years old? But only one thing was certain: something in his life changed him. If he was an animal, it would probably be an old, powerful and tired great bear… one that would look at any hunter with hope that the idiot will manage to kill him. His very voice, deep with a lovely accent, was tired, angry and sad.

"She's too polite to tell you to your face that no one here give a shit about what you know." He continued before the scholar could complain. "Leave her alone. Be quiet. And you won't get hurt."

The scholar complained a lot about how brutal Marcher warriors could be. "Useless grunt not good enough to serve in a proper army" were his exacts words. But one look from the warrior and the scholar quickly learnt how live-saving silence could be.

"I am so sorry, My Lord…" Siris muttered, not daring to look at the warrior sitting next to her.

"I'm no "Lord"." The warrior spat, before biting his lips. "Why are you apologising for?"

"My blunder disrupted your rest."

"Do not worry. I don't deserve rest. And this guy was talking about things he knew nothing about."

"How do you know?" Siris carefully asked.

"Your nails were digging in the flesh."

Siris looked down at her hands. She did not notice her nails cutting through her palms. Now that she did, it started to hurt. The man took her hands and dressed them with piece of torn clothes; after cleaning the wounds with clear water.

"There. Better." He said. "May I ask why a tiny elf is traveling on her own in the Free Marches?"

"I'm looking for Grey Wardens." She answered.

"You want to join?"

"Yes." Siris lied. "What about you, my Lor… hum…"

"Rainier. Thom Rainier. I'm just wondering. Right wrongs when I can, traveling alone the rest of the time."

"Why?"

"I don't deserve to do anything else." Rainier said, his face betraying a terrible guilt.

It was obviously the end of the subject. The warrior named Thom Rainier showed Siris the subject was taboo by falling asleep again. Whatever he was really asleep was debatable. But the young elf did not want to pry.

For a moment, Siris tried to rest too. She had sleep in worst places and situations, but being on a bumpy road was not helping.

Suddenly a cry of pain from the driver's sit woke up everybody. A whistle, crackled bones, then a muffled sound of a heavy bag falling on the ground; Rainier reacted immediately.

"Heads down, now!" He shouted.

He put his helmet on, armed his shield and sword and jumped out of the cart. Siris did not question, and lower her head as much as possible. No one could see what was going on; but a violent fight was happening outside. And things were not going well for their protector. Siris discreetly poke her head out of the shuttle. Warrior Rainier was injured, fighting a dozen of armed bandits!

"We must help!" She whispered.

"Are you crazy?" The scholar said. "We'll get killed!"

"And if we don't do something soon, _he_ will die." A woman said. "Do you have a plan, elf?"

"No, you?"

"No." She answered. "Fine, let's go there and see for ourselves!"

The "plan" was terrible. But it was the only one they could come up with. No one else wanted to help. Siris and the woman got down the cart and hid behind it to observe. The bandits were coming from the hill and circled the courageous warrior. The woman had no weapons but her frying pan. Siris had the dagger she took from the guardswoman's belongings, but wasn't entirely sure how to use it: she had no intention of killing anybody.

None of the bandits seemed to notice the two brave women, when they slowly come out of their hiding place. They hid themselves behind the bandits and hit on their heads as strongly as possible. The one the woman attacked fell immediately unconscious, but Siris wasn't as successful. Rainier ceased the occasion. He launched at the bandit and dug his sword in his chest. A hit in the face of another: breaking his neck with a deadly elegance. Another bandit came up to him. Rainier took Siris' Dagger and sank it in the heart.

"One less to worry about…" Rainier muttered. "Are you alright?"

The two women answered positively. Then Rainier fell on one of his knee, then on the ground. His leg was wounded. The cut was serious, although not as deep as the blood let imagine. The woman had a look at it.

"Not to worry. I can fix this." She said as her hands got surrounded by calm blue light. "My name is Emma Caravel, previously of the Ferelden Circle. But the Tower had trouble, so I'm here looking for a new home who would have me. Although… not Kirkwall. I'm heading to Ostwick. How about you? I think I heard you speaking of Kirkwall?"

"True for me." Siris shyly said.

"Why not using your magic against the bandits?" Rainier asked, a bit worried as the magic healed his leg.

"Magic must serve man, not rule other him." Emma Caravel said. "These people made terrible life-choices, but they are still humans. And I've decided to put my magic to good use. Killing people with it is _not_ a good use."

When Rainier's leg was healed as new, the three brave souls looked around for the shuttle. They had waisted enough time and the dead driver needed a proper funeral. Maybe the scholar could help with that? Unless a chantry cleric were traveling with them?

But the shuttle was gone.

Emma immediately used her magic to locate it.

"Blasted ignorant coward scholar!" She growled. "Abandoning us in the middle of nowhere! Leaving that poor man dead on the ground?! Coward!"

"We can't go after them, can we?" Siris asked.

"Not on foot. Not with their speed." Emma answered. "What should we do?"

The two women looked at each other, trying to remember why they decided to leave the cart. Rainier answered that silent question by bowing to them.

"I must thank you, my Ladies. Without your help, I would have died." He said. "As repayment, allow me to escort you to wherever safe place you need to go."

"I'm no lady." Siris shyly said. "And I didn't even manage to knock "my" bandit out."

"Nonsense!" Emma said. "True, the man did not fall on the ground, but you distracted him, allowing our friend here to put an end to his miserable life."

"Lady Caravel is right." Rainier added.

" _Lady Caravel_?" Emma repeated. "I could definitely get used to that… No matter. Sir Rainier is it not? I accept your generous offer of escorting me to Ostwick."

Siris had no choice since both Rainier and Emma decided to escort her to Kirkwall.

The path was long. On the road, Emma told her traveling companions the story of Ferelden Circle during the Blight. Abominations, demons, tortures, possessions… A bloody mess that Emma barely escaped. Then, she lent her magic with the other mages to fight the Archdemon at Denerim.

Since he owed his life to the two women, Rainier told his story. At the end of it, Siris felt so sad she fought not to cry. The man won the Grand Tourney before serving in the Orlesian Army. Then he became Guard-Captain for a Lord who, for the Game, send him and his men to kill a political opponent, with the promise of gold. But things went horribly wrong when they discovered that the carriage they attacked had the rival's family in it. Thom Rainier could not bear it. He gave everything he had to the ones who needed it, then left. The only things he kept was the shield and the sword he had for the Grand Tourney. It was fifteen years ago. He never stopped traveling since. Never stopped fighting for the ones who couldn't. Dying would be a kind punishment, so Rainier never stopped surviving.

After such difficult story, the three travellers stopped to make camp: it was almost dark; and Kirkwall was still a long way to go. Emma made a fire, Siris helped with the cooking and Rainier secured the area.

At a point during diner, Siris could not bear not to tell the truth about her. Both Rainier and Emma were honest: why should she be any less?

"I was a slave." She finally said, making everyone freeze. "From Tevinter."

Siris pulled her sleeves up, revealing old cut scars.

"My master was not a mage, but his daughters were. They use me and the others as test subjects or living blood tanks for their experiments. We were headed to Kirkwall when Darkspawns attacked us. They killed my master and his family; then got killed by Grey Wardens. And left me for dead. I don't want to join the Grey Wardens. But I survived a terrible attack. If I'm sick, I must know. I'm sorry. I lied."

The two humans stayed silent for a moment, thinking. Rainier drank a bit of water before saying few words.

"Thank you." He said. "For your honesty."

"You are not mad?"

"Why should we be?" Lady Caravel asked. "You revealed something extremely grave and entrusted us with these informations."

"It takes courage to admit such things." Rainier said, speaking from experience. "We'll be careful, if it is what you want. But for now, enjoy being alive."

The next morning, Siris woke up early, to see Rainier preparing something to eat. Then Emma woke up. They ate, packed, and left. On the road, Emma -or Lady Caravel as the elf and the warrior pleased themselves calling her in such manners- asked questions about what happened with the darkspawns. Siris told her everything she could remember: the excrutiating suffering, the terrible silent and calmness that soon followed; and when she woke up after losing consciousness.

"I'll admit, I never heard of anything like that." Emma said. "About the violent reaction to the tainted blood nor the fact you survived it. If you allow me, I'd like to make some research about it. I'm sure the Circle of Ostwik must at least have one book on the effects of the Blight."

She remained silent of a moment.

"Could it be your tattoos?" Rainier asked. "You told us it was your master's daughter who gave you your dalish-like tattoos on your face. Since it is an ink made from blood, perhaps they put some kind of magic in it."

"A fait point." Emma agreed. "It's something I must studied too. If it is possible, you must know about it. Who knows what other effects they might have on you."

"But if you find something, how will you tell me?" Siris worried. "I have no home and don't plan to settle anytime soon. Not until I've met a Grey Warden."

"You could set up a rendez-vous: a date and a place where you must meet again." Rainier said.

"Then it would be at Ostwick." Emma stated. "I'm not sure I will be able to join the Circle, but I doubted the Templars would let me leave the city like that. Let's say… in three weeks, at Ostwick. How about that?"

"Alright." Siris agreed.

It was strange. These people, these _humans_ were treating her like an equal. And they were trying to help. It was too new for Siris: how could she stand it without being emotional?

"So that's how being free feels like…" She muttered as her two traveling companions went into theories about Siris unusual situation.

* * *

 **Chapter 3: "The City of Slaves", coming soon.**


	4. Chapter 3 : The City of Slaves - Part 1

**Dragon Age - Alternate Univers**

 ** _Siris (OC) was a tevinter slave until darkspawns attacked. Her master and his family died, and she barely survived. but is she sick wwith the blight? Only one way to know: find a Grey Warden. For this, Siris decide to travel to Kirkwall. On the road she meet a mage, emma Caravel, on her way to Ostiwk's Cicle of Magi, and Thom Rainier, a criminal on the run looking for redemption._**

 ** _With the promise to meet again, Siris depart from their company._**

* * *

Siris felt sick.

The young elf, Thom Rainier and Emma Caravel arrived late in the morning to Kirkwall. The city gates were… witnesses to the time were the Emporium rule the place. Over slaves. Lots of them. Most of them were elves. Somehow, Siris felt these people -dead by now- pain just by looking at the statues and the tall walls screaming "don't fuck with us!". And all that made her feel sick.

During the Blight, the city became one of the many sanctuaries for refugees. Well… "Sanctuary" was a big word and Rainier, Siris and Emma weren't sure Kirkwall deserved to be call as such. Now, the Archdemon was dead and people were starting to live again. Some returned to Ferelden, but the main observation anyone could make was that fewer people _wanted_ to go in Kirkwall. Save some few travellers such as Siris and her travelling companions.

Emma stayed behind, waiting for Rainier. The man wanted to make sure Siris was in security inside the city, but the mage -for obvious reasons- had to stay away from any form of armoured uniform.

"This is it." Rainier said. "Kirkwall. I went here once. Be careful, Little Bird. This city is a lot of trouble."

"I'll be careful." Siris said. " _Ma Melava halani, Rainier. Ma serannas._ "

"What does it mean?" Rainier asked, curious.

"It means "You helped me. Thank you."." Siris explained, all smile. "You know… I've been thinking about you, and what you are trying to do. I may say something stupid, since the only times I seek for forgiveness was when my master was angry… But travelling alone and going little things is good… but people won't see it. If you're looking for forgiveness, maybe you should seek for other people wondering the same road. Together, you could make a real, good, difference. And if people don't want to see the good in you, then at least you would have tried."

"You mean… creating a group of some sorts?"

"I heard little of the Grey Wardens." Siris said. "But for what I know: they like to reach for criminals ready to die for the greater good. You could do the same. Perhaps not going to such extreme, but Grey Wardens are too much for the world when there is no Blight. You could create something that people could look for when tragedies (other than Blights) hits them; and say: "they are here, we are safe!". It's just a thought though…"

"A good one." Rainier said.

He looked sad. There was in his voice… A little desperation he could not help when something happens to him he thought not to deserve. Siris never imagined meeting a man hating himself so much. If only she could help more…

"I know I should drop the tevene but I don't know how to say it in southern: " _Vie umo ti anima, e adore ipse_.(1) Be safe. I hope we'll meet again."

Rainier smiled. He bowed with respected -making Siris blushed like a teenager. She was a free elf, but some habits die hard: like being invisible, or not being respected as a living intelligent being. In other words, Rainier (basic) polite attitude was embarrassing for the former tevinter slave.

"I know we already made our goodbyes, but tell Lady Emma I'm looking forward to meet her again."

"Will do."

Rainier stayed there while Siris advanced to the city gates. She could feel his eyes on her for a while, as she waited her turn to explain the guard why she wanted to get in. eventually, the feeling disappeared, so she looked where the warrior was standing: he was gone. And Emma, who was watching at a distance, was nowhere to be seen.

Siris was alone again.

"You, the tiny knife-ear, come forward." The guard said.

"I beg your pardon?" Another one said.

The second guard was a tall strong red hair woman. She looked strict, yet somehow gentle. But she was looking at the man with such eyes, even a pride demon would feel in danger. The city guard did not know where to stand. He tried to stand tall as he saluted his "Guard-Captain", but the man was shaking like a leaf.

"This is no ways to treat travellers, guardsman." The Guard-Captain severely said. "Latrine duty for a month. Perhaps doing the servants job will teach you some manners."

"Yes, sir!"

The guard left as quickly as he could, not wishing to meet his superior's eyes. The Guard-Captain turned to Siris who did not know what to do or say. She felt ashamed to have brought the human trouble. And yet she did nothing wrong, but being here.

"Please accept my sincere apologies for my man shameful behaviour." The Guard-Captain said. "May I help you in any ways? Why do you wish to get in Kirkwall?"

"My name is Siris, I'm looking for a Grey Warden." Siris shyly explained.

For a moment, the guardswoman's eyes changed a little. A light of knowledge give Siris a hint: the human knew a Grey Warden.

"And what makes you think you'll find one here?" She asked.

"Nothing. But I _have_ to meet one." Siris said, putting all her resolution in her words.

The Guard-Captain changed again. Something was a bit off. She turned around and opened the door.

"Please follow me." She said.

Siris did not make the human repeat herself; she followed the guard into the city, climbing stairs, going down stairs, then climbing some others again… How a city could have so many stairs? It was inhumane! No wonder it was called the "city of slaves": even the streets were a torture! As they arrived to what was called "Hight Town", Siris noticed a gigantic building not far for the city, yet isolated from it.

"That's the Gallows." The Guard-Captain said, acting more "normal". "Kirkwall's Circle of Magi, ruled by Knight-Commander Meredith. The Templars do not rule the city but certainly act like it. Remember: if something bad happen, come the city-guards, not the Templars."

"Yes, My Lady." Siris shyly said.

"Call me Guard-Captain Aveline. I'm no lady."

So many humans were saying there were no ladies or lords. Back in Tevinter, everybody free and with small round ears was a "lord" or a "lady".

Guard-captain Aveline also pointed to building "ruling the city" as she presented it: the Viscount's Keep; which was also the city-guards Headquarters. However, the human did not lead the small elf up there. The stopped in front of a noble house and knock with strength on the door. A dwarf opened.

"Ah! Guard-Captain Aveline!" He said with a jolly voice. "Please come in! I'll call Messere Hawke immediately. Who should I announce with you…?"

"Siris." Aveline simply said.

"Very well. Please! Have a sit."

Aveline stayed on her two feet, put invited Siris to sit on the chair near the fireplace. The elf looked so tiny in the armchair obviously made for humans. The house was beautiful and well kept. At a point, a tall woman with black short hair and a red mark painted on her nose got down the stairs; a huge dog was with her, and one of the strangest elf Siris ever met. The man had a dark skin, yet moon-white hair falling into his eyes. His black clothes could not hide the most unusual set of tattoos: they were white and… shiny.

"Welcome Aveline!" Said the human. "You must be Siris. Welcome to you too."

"This young lady needs to meet a Grey Warden. Since I know _nothing_ about a Grey Warden in Kirkwall, I'll leave the matter to you, Hawke. See you soon."

Aveline left and Siris felt extremely anxious. The white-hair elf did not look friendly at all, yet the little traveller could feel some kind of pain, a memory of pain. She could not help but empathize with him; even if he might not notice it -or _want_ it. Siris could also swear she saw him somewhere, before. But where? When?

"So? Why makes you want to meet a Grey Warden?" Lady Hawke asked sitting in front of the tiny elf.

"It's… complicated." Siris said, not willing to tell her story again.

Hawke's accent was Ferelden, and Emma told Siris to be careful to who she tells her story about surviving a darkspawn attack. If the elf had the Blight, no one would want to help her get a Grey Warden.

"And I might just forget where to find a Warden." Hawke said, not spitefully, but careful. "Either you tell me what brings you here, or my memory might just… slip away."

" _Kaffas…_ " Siris muttered, making the white-hair elf stood up a little. "All right. But I beg you not to get mad at me."

"I make no promises." Hawke said, rising an eyebrow, looking at her friend with a worried curiosity.

"I… survived a darkspawn attack, but know not if I'm sick."

She wasn't going to tell them she was a tevinter slave, nor that her master died. Especially since the white-hair elf was trying to kill her with the power of stare. At a point, Hawke came back from her mental wondering and asked "Fenris" to go tell "Anders" she'll be at the clinic very soon.

 _Fenris_. Siris thought.

She knew that name. But where did she heard it? Blasted memory! The young elf could remember ancient elven carvings in every possible detail but not a simple, modern name? Either ways, it was suspicious. A white-hair elf with shining white tattoos named "Fenris", who frowned when he heard her swear in tevene… No. No, it could not be _that_ person, could it? Siris put all her thought in a corner of her head while the elf throwing a suspicious look at her before leaving.

Hawke went upstairs and came back in a full armour and a staff. A mage noblewoman? Siris needed to show respect. And yet, what were the customs for this type of people in the Free Marches?

The small elf followed the human down what looked like a secret passage in the house's cellar. It arrived directly in what Hawke referred to be "Darktown". From a double door, Siris could hear an argument.

"I can't turn my back without having them fighting…" growled Hawke. "Anders, Fenris, enough!"

The two men stopped immediately to fight. Fortunately, their argument was only with words, but Siris just knew that the elf would have killed the man and not even regret it.

The man in question "Anders", was a blonde human in mercenary's clothes. He had a magic staff and lots of cats around his place. He looked nice, although there was something strange about him. Hawke pushed Siris towards the man.

"Siris, meet Anders. Anders, meet Siris. The girl needs help."

"About?" Anders replied, still grumpy from the fight.

"Blight."

Anders turned around to stare at Siris. He looked worried, anxious and dead-serious. With is staff, he pointed one of the beds.

"Sit." He ordered. "Know that I can't and won't make her a Warden."

"I know." Hawke said, with pain.

* * *

(1) "Live for your soul/heart and love yourself."

 **I used Katie's Almost Totally Made-Up Tevene Dictionary/Reference, that you can find here:** _/works/227715/chapters/345947_

 **Next Chapter: "The City of Slaves, Part 2" coming soon.**


	5. Chapter 4 : The City of Slaves - Part 2

**Siris of Tevinter "the City of Slaves" Part.2**

 **Enjoy!**

* * *

It was done.

Siris looked at the sea and wondered, only for a moment, how Ferelden was.

The Grey Warden Mage Anders looked if she was sick. Nothing. Not even a tiny sign of Blight. How could this be possible? She remembered perfectly the excruciating pain as the corruption invaded each part of her body… She _remembered_. It wasn't a dream. So how could she be " _fine"_.

Fine…

Anders said that word looking at her with disgust: she was not a mage, not a human, not blighted and she was wasting his time. Then Fenris said something… what was it? She could not remember; but the mage burst into rage… literally. Blue light coming out of his mouth and eyes and his very skin. An abomination. Although, he looked better than some abomination Siris saw back in Minrathous. Less goo, less "bwaaaaarrrr…"; even if this "Justice", as Hawke called it, did not look kinder than the usual demon.

Anyway, Siris did not want to be anywhere near the human/Grey Warden/Abomination. She had enough of creepiness for one day.

That happened two days ago. Since, Siris was looking at the sea, empty thoughts, not hungry, not thirty, not wanting anything. Confusion was the only thing she could feel. How did all this happened to her? A slaver from Tevinter attacked by darkspawn, running to a Grey Warden to know if it's the end and now… nothing. What was she supposed to do now? She should probably go visit Lady Caravel as promised, but what will she tell her? She still had two weeks or so to go to Ostwick; two days for travel… What will she do until then?

"I should ask how do you feel." Fenris said, sitting on the edge of the cliff next to her. "But I think I know the answer. You are a slave from Tevinter?"

"I used to be… I think." Siris slowly answered. "How did you know?"

"You cursed in tevene when Anders' dementia was showing."

" _Kaffas…_ " The young elf muttered; then decided to change subject. "When _Domne_ Anders…"

" _Anders_." Fenris grumpily corrected. "He's no lord."

"When he checked if I was sick… I remembered something."

"I'm not sure I want to know; Magic is creepy and dangerous." The white-hair elf mumbled.

"Well, you might want to know, because I remembered _you_."

Fenris went silent, as still as ice. His face was pale; which looked a bit strange with his usual dark coloured skin. However, Siris did not divert her eyes from the sea.

"There were rumors among the slaves, back in Minrathous." She said. "A magister performing a ritual. One of his elven slaves come out of it strong and… changed. Lyrium covering his skin, his hair… completely white and no memories to identify himself. The ones who saw the slave were terrified to speak of him. They called him _the White Wolf_. _Fenris,_ turns out to be his name…"

Siris took a moment to think. She remembered him well. She saw him once, from a distance. Master Danarius was visiting her Master. Usually she was studying for him, but a plague took too many house slaves, so she had to help in the kitchens. Fenris came for wine. He looked like a ghost. Now… he looked better, but was he better?

Fenris said nothing. Was he chocked? Perhaps. But Siris was not done yet.

"My master, as Magister Danarius' friend, was traveling to Kirkwall to look for you; when we were attacked. I know that if he does not give word to _Domne_ Danarius, this one will come personally. Master is dead. You must stay on your guard."

"He's here?!"

"I don't know."

Siris stood up. She felt a bit dizzy, but the feeling disappeared quickly. What will happen now? Should she go back to Kirkwall? Planning her journey to Ostwick? Looking for a job? Perhaps she had a shot to become house servant somewhere in Hightown. Or, she could take advantage to her knowledge on Tevinter and ancient elven Culture. Something good had to out of it, no? Perhaps the Circle would be interested… But did they take elven non-mages researchers? Siris shook her head. No, she needed to go to Ostwick. Lady Caravel was a gentle soul, but Siris did not know how the human mage would take it if she was late for their meeting. With any luck, the mage was nothing like the Magisters in Minrathous.

Fenris accompanied her back to Kirkwall, but then went straight to Lady Hawke estate. She probably needed to know her lover ex-master was still looking for him. She probably already knew that, but now the man himself will show up in Kirkwall sooner or later.

Siris wondered to the city with no real plan. The alienage made her sick, Lowtown was a dump, Hightown's folk looked at her like some kind of diseased animal. She bought some food: bread and an apple. The southerners seemed to have a thing for cheese; but the smell and aspect did not encourage Siris' appetite. The elf found a quiet place to eat: a step, in stairs leading to a big building with a lot of women in white and red dresses. Was it some kind of temple?

"Come on… You have to."

"But I'm not sure…"

A couple of elves were quietly arguing not far from Siris the man was trying to convince the woman. Their seemed to be siblings: same blond hair, same height, same kind of face shape. Twins? No matter.

"If he's a mage, you have to tell them." The man said, worried. "Who knows what he might do to you, to us."

"Maybe nothing?" the woman wondered.

"Maybe not. But are you willing to take the risk?"

"But… I'm scared. He was good to us. To many."

"I know… But the poor girl could have died." The man said. "I'm not letting a human killed one of us because "it's not his fault", or whatever crap he wants us to swallow."

"I… I don't know."

Siris stood up and came to them.

" _Adaran atish'an_." She said.

"A dalish?!" The elven man said.

"I'm not." Siris said. "I couldn't help but hear you talk about a mage?"

"Ah… hum… yes. Come."

The siblings brought Siris in a quiet place where no one could hear them.

"In the docks, there is a mage, a healer." The man said. "He is good to us, don't ask much for his services."

He looked worried at his sister. She was holding her arm like it hurt. In fact, it did. She pulled her sleeve up to revealed a bandage wrap around her wrist. With her authorization, Siris unwrapped the dressing. She closed her eyes. Somehow, she hoped it wouldn't be _that_. But blood magic had its way to scar. The tevinter elf pull up her own sleeves to show her own marks.

"Blood magic." She said. "I know. I'm from Tevinter. The pain goes away, but not the scar. What happened?"

"I cut myself with a kitchen knife." The elven woman explained. "It wouldn't stop bleeding so I came to the human. He helped us before, but then I felt dizzy. I woke up in a cellar with dead bodies around me and my arm like that. I couldn't move. He came back, collected blood, use it to summon monsters, and left with the… demons. I saw it all! But I'm… I'm… terrified."

"I went to look for her when she did not return home." Her brother said, taking the elf in his arm when she started to cry. "I found her in the old clinic, but the man was gone. Our people found him doing the same trick in Hightown, but only my sister can testify; otherwise the humans won't believe us, not even the Templars will! And maker knows how paranoiac they are."

"How about a letter?" Siris said.

"We… thought about that but…"

The siblings didn't know how to write. Siris might have the solution for that: she could, although her Common wasn't good. The girl could write books in tevene old and new, in ancient elven and even in qunari. But Common? Her Master never asked to be his scribe: just a researcher. But she could try. After all, she had a little vocabulary. Whoever will read the letter will have to fill the grammatical gaps.

The siblings showed were they lived in the alienage after buying some furniture for the letter. It was the best all three could do. Going to the Chantry or the Gallows was too dangerous either for the young lady or her brother. So, writing a letter that _Siris_ will deliver was for the best. In case the malificar would be watching.

The woman, Alia, described to her everything again and Siris tried her best to write down as many things as she could. Did it make sense? The only way to know would be to let the addressee -probably a templar- try to read it.

The three elves agreed to give the letter in two days, to make sure the malificar would not associate Siris as a spy or anything. At this point, the siblings could only think of so many situations that would end with their painful death. While offering Siris a bath and some food, they also tried to know how it was Tevinter. But the young elf knew that telling them the truth would spook them even more. So, she made up some excuses to not tell the parts about mages and blood magic she witnessed and, sometimes, suffered from.

The bath was not warm, but it was good to be clean again. Alia did the laundry while Siris would wear some of her clothes. Ilia, Alia's brother, fixed something to eat. He also offered to give her news about the land.

"Have you seen Lady Hawke?" He asked. "She a ferelden mage _shemlen_ , but a good one. Because of her nobility, the Templars have let her alone. Moreover, she's Kirkwall's Champion. That's right! She saved us all from a qunari attack! Challenged the Arishok and killed him in single combat."

Killed an Arishok in single combat? Siris has a hard time believing that. Amongst the qun, the Arishok was powerful and usually the best warrior in the ranks. The elf heard numerous times Magisters and Nobles from Tevinter cursing that title, that enemy.

"Then, Hawke openly announced she was in love with an elf, Fenris." Ilia continued. "Ever since, the shemlens have been more agreeable with the elves in the city, isn't that right sister?"

"Fewer templars going nuts when one of us turns out to be a mage and no humans to raid our homes during the night!" Alia said from the other room where she was doing the laundry.

"Serah Hawke even headbutt Knight-Commander Meredith _and_ the first enchanter during a fight they had. Put some minds at ease, but for how long?"

"I'm just glad the Knight-Commander did not go mad because a mage hit her." Alia added, sitting at the table with her brother and their guest.

They chatted until night. Talking did wonders for the siblings. They were so anxious!

The next morning, Siris helped with all the housekeeping. When alia and Ilia went to work, the tevinter elf wondered the city, learning as much as she could about the humans in Kirkwall. She witnessed two Templar raids, four city-guards interventions, seven crimes: six theft, one murder. But she also saw a chantry sister sing the chant of Light for sick people in the street, a merchant offering some food to an elven child and numerous act of charity of the sort. Kirkwall had its downsides, like in Minrathous. But it also had good in it.

* * *

The second day, Siris wondered in Hightown while her hosts were working. She was enjoying the sun a bit before taking a shuttle to the Gallows. The letter was ready in her traveling bag. This morning, she said her goodbyes to Alia and Ilia. After delivering the letter, she will go to Ostwick. Being in the city was nice and all, but she recognized too many tevinter slavers in the streets, and the arguments between mages and templars here were unhealthy. Will it be better in Ostwick? Probably not. However, she won't know until she gets there.

Beside, Siris did not see the point of delaying the news about her not having the Blight to Lady Caravel. The human was kind enough to worry about the former slave, why making her study something for nothing? If something happened that dreadful day, it wasn't because of the Blight. Not directly anyway: being cure from it might have been a side effect. But a side effect of what? Now _that_ was the right and crucial question.

While thinking of lady Caravel, Siris found herself thinking of Thom Rainier. She wondered how the man was doing? Was he fighting bad people to protect innocent? Was he building something great with other criminals looking for redemption? Was he dead, killed in action or executed in public? Another question that Siris was anxious to learn the answer. She _knew_ the man deserved a second chances. But after meeting Anders, Siris was not sure the Grey Warden were the best fitted to offer such an important thing. That mage was… unnerving, to say the least. Siris made a promise to Hawke she would not say a word about Anders being an abomination, but… that man was just wrong, and in many, _many_ levels. Who would willingly allow a spirit to get in your head? Who would expect that it would not go wrong? A spirit is not an abandoned puppy. You can't just allow the thing in your head like you would let a spirit into your head. If one thing Siris learnt from magic in Tevinter was that spirits were fragile: anything can turn them away from their original purpose and changed them for the worst!

Anyway… Now was not the time to worry about Anders. The man was a Grey Warden. He could not be capable of hurting any innocent: he made an oath! Then again… the Templars made a similar oath. Some seemed to forget that. It was scary to see that Templars in Tevinter were sometimes better that in the South. About the "protect the innocent" part… the rest was simply embarrassing.

Siris stood up and headed to the port. A templar recruit was assuring the shuttle's round trips. Apparently, there were many things to be careful about: presence of mages, identity of the passengers, why these wanted to visit the Gallows… Siris, still mindful that the _malificar_ might be watching, used her elven appearance to her advantage and posed as an envoy from the Keep. The templar did not question: an elf doing that kind of job? Of course! She could even ask who to deliver the message to without raising suspicion.

"Knight-Captain Cullen might help you with that. He handles every message for the Knight-Commander when she's in duty somewhere." The recruit said.

His accent was terrible: was he from Orlais? Siris heard about the strange accent there, but never though she will hear someone speak that strangely. Anyway, she thanked him with respect and left the shuttle once at the Gallows.

The place was horrifying. It reminded her too much of "home". And when you know about Kirkwall history, it wasn't surprising. Siris looked around, wondering who the "Knight-Captain Cullen" might be. Most humans looked the same to Siris, but the feeling was worst when they all start wearing the same uniform. She had to asked around, pretending to be new to the job. After being laugh at by numerous knights, a young lady-templar-recruit gently showed her a man in the other side of the courtyard.

The man in question was in armour and obviously tired of all the people trying to have his attention. There were a lot of humans asking to see their families living in the Circle, asking compensations because of abuses from templars, wishing to meet Meredith (those people were nobles) and some, (all elves) wanted to deliver messages.

"These humans…" Sighted an envoy. "Always complaining about something."

"You would do the same if your child was taken from you by force." Another one bitterly replied.

Siris waited patiently.

Eventually the knight just asked his subordinates to bring back the humans to the shuttles.

* * *

 **Next chapter: "the Malificar" Part 1, coming soon.**


	6. Chapter 5 : The Malificar

**Siris from Tevinter, chapter 5!**

 **I apologise for the mistakes: english is not my mother tongue. But I'm trying to make as much progress as I can, as fast as possible!**

 **Fanfiction, AU-Dragon Age; univers and characters belong to Bioware, etc... Mother Maryse, Garon, Shala, Kala, Ilia and Alia and Siris are Original Characters. As you may have noticed, I took a lot of liberties with the story, but that's the magic of Alternative-Univers. 3**

* * *

The Templar Order in the south had many similarities with the one in Tevinter. Saying that out loud would not make Siris any friends, but it was the truth. As she waited her turn to give her message to the Knight-captain Cullen, the young elf had plenty of time to observe the Gallows' courtyard. The organisation was impressive, but there were still problems, such as the Knight-Captain being overwhelmed by outsiders while the Knight-Commander was away; for a moment, Siris wondered how the Circle of Minrathous dealt with this kind of situation.

"Next!" the Knight-Captain Cullen rumbled with frustration. "Maker's Breath… I hope you're the last!"

Siris shyly stood up, and presented the letter.

"From who?" He asked like a golem would.

"An innocent." Siris replied, not sure if she had to say her news friends' names out loud.

The templar let a heavy sigh escape his mouth as he opened the letter. He started to read, then frowned. He looked at Siris and for a moment. For a moment, she feared he could not read her writing… or her words for that matter.

"Is this… from refugees?" He asked.

"Maybe." Siris cautiously replied.

The Knight-Captain frowned even more. His eyes wondered the courtyard with vigilance. Siris didn't know what to do. Should she leave or should she stay? The elf wanted to be far away, but she needed to know if the templar understood her poorly written letter; if he will do something about the malificar. The young elven woman almost jumped went his heavy armored hand landed on her shoulder.

"Follow me." He said.

Siris did not dare say no. She followed him on top of stairs (Again with the stairs! This bloody city is full of them!) and entered a what seemed to be part of the "templar building". They entered in an office and the Knight-Captain put the letter on a desk to read it again.

"We should be safe from spies here. I think. I can't really read what's written here." He said. "I'm not sure some of these words exists in common. Did you write this letter?"

Siris said nothing, let nothing appeared. She had training with her old master: she didn't know how much she could trust the man. He looked rather young and gentle; but he was Knight-Commander Meredith's second-in-command. As such, caution was in order. Siris did not want to bring trouble to Alia and Ilia. They were taking enough risks as it was.

"I understand your caution, but I manage to read "malificar" in this letter." The Knight-Captain said. "And I don't like it. If there is a blood mage in the city, I need to know."

"My writing is terrible." Siris finally said. "But no one else knew how to use a quill."

"Your accent… You're from Tevinter?" the templar said, surprised.

For a brief moment, Siris felt a wave of pure energy invading the room. Knight-Captain Cullen's eyes went light blue in a flash, like Anders, but in a less menacing manner. Siris observed the templar for a long moment. She never saw one that close. His white skin had blue veins which lose their light when the man "calm down". Was this… lyrium? It was impressive and somehow sad. Knight-Captain Cullen looked tired, and it was not because of the humans earlier.

"You are no mage." He said.

Cullen asked Siris to sit down and explain everything. If she had known, the elf would have not bothered to write down a freaking letter in Southern Common. But talking was good. The templar was mostly silent, listening carefully to what Siris had to say.

"I don't suppose your elven friend would like to come here? We can protect her."

"With all due respect, I saw what the southerners Templars are capable of. "Protecting" an elf is as much impossible for you than it is for tevinter knights. No one cares about my kind; even if _you_ do, that doesn't change this fact. Deal with the malificar, and maybe she'll have a chance to survive this city."

"It's not that bad…"

"You're wrong. It is bad. But you live here, you're a human, and a knight. As such, it's pointless to argue with you about this cursed city."

Siris felt bitter. "Not that bad?" He never set foot in the alienage! That man was no better than a noble tevinter: ignoring the suffering of the people different from him.

"Do your job, deal with the malificar. And perhaps I will consider trusting a templar."

Siris stood up and left. Not in her dreams she would have been able to do that in Tevinter; or say those things she said. To a human. Who was a Templar. It felt damn good. Potentially dangerous, but totally worth it! And it gave her some style!

The young elf went back to Lowtown to buy some supplies. She was almost ready to go to Ostwick. As she went to the city gates, her thoughts flew to Alia and Ilia. " _Elven Gods, Tevene Old Gods, Maker, Andraste, Koslun, whoever might hear my prayer…"_ She though. " _Please watch other them._ " She hoped the siblings would be gently protected by at least someone.

* * *

The headache was almost unbearable. And the stone-cold floor did nothing to help.

Siris opened her eyes, but could not see anything. Was she in a house? Underground? A cell, perhaps? Did the templar take offense about what she said? No. Somehow, the elf knew there were no templars around. But she felt pain. Not hers. Someone else's. The urge to help invaded her being. It was almost unnatural. She tried to move. Her feet and wrists were bound by ropes, cutting and burning threw her flesh. It hurt, but the young elven woman managed to sit up. Her head was spinning in pain.

"Hello?" She said. "Is anyone here?"

No response… but a muffled noise, like cloth moving silently. Someone was here, listening, observing. But where? Siris could see nothing but thick darkness. Another noise! A panel sliding to the side. Suddenly, a stench took Siris by surprise. She coughed, trying to breath fresh air. What was that?!

"Who here?! What's going on?!" She cried.

"It was your fault, _slave_." A man calmly said. "All that happened was your fault. It's fine! You'll pay in due time. I'm sure you'll be of great use back in Minrathous."

"I don't know who you are, but I am not going back there!" Siris shouted.

"Really?"

Fire balls sprang from a fist and lit up the room.

Siris was in a cage on the floor, in the center of a rather small room. The man was an elder human with a grey beard, wearing a colourful robe of supreme quality. The details were tevinter-made; so much that Siris knew immediately that the man was a magister. She hated his voice, treating her like a child, daring to think she needed him to survive. Bloody magisters! All the same! But what made her even more angry was that she _knew_ the man. He was the reason why she had to face darkspawns, why one of her brother in misery had to fled to Kirkwall.

"Danarius." She muttered.

"It's _Master_ Danarius." He corrected like an falsely angry father.

" _Fasta vass_!" She shouted.

"Language!"

Siris went into a maniac laugh. Was this really happening? Was she prisoner from a tevinter nobleman _again_? Was he treating her like a child who needs his guidance and help? Did he dare to think that her being a slave was _natural_?

"My dear friend put you in his will, it was only natural for me to track you down, since your body was never found. I was about to give up when an elf tried to sell to one of my men a very pretty necklace. The very same necklace I gave to one of my friend's daughters. The elf was very cooperative… not the others, however."

Denarius pushed a curtain. Siris immediately emptied her stomach on the floor.

Three forms were handing from the ceiling. The bodies covered in blood. Flies and worms already at work. Siris knew them. The gentle Shala had her eyes removed, her chest cut, her legs ripped off by beasts. The kind Garon with his intestine on the ground threw a large cut. And the poor innocent Kala, their daughter, her head handing on a chain next to her body.

Siris screamed out of pain, crying and praying. She cursed Danarius, nobility and Tevinter in every language she knew. She weeped and asked for forgiveness. Why? For being good, for wanting to help, Garon, Shala and Kala suffered a fate worse than death.

"Now, now. No need to be so rude." Danarius casually said. "They had what they deserved, keeping you from me."

"Is that so?"

The voice was deep and shaking with pure rage. Siris looked up. A white-hair elf was standing at the door, weapon in hand.

"Fenris!" She cried.

"Two slaves for once. The Maker smiles on me today."

"Don't push your luck, magister." Hawke said, from another entrance.

She was standing with her staff in hand, ready for battle. She was disgusted and sad; but determined to put an end to all the cruelty.

"Surrender. Face Kirkwall's justice." She said.

"I am a Magister from Tevinter. I do not answer to southern filth!" Danarius shouted, his hands lighting up with fire.

But the magic disappeared, and the magister panicked.

"What the…"

Suddenly, the mage got hit by an unknown shining blue force. But Fenris was still at the door! How could this be possible? It was so fast Siris could not follow. Then, Danarius got pin down on the floor with a sword in his shoulder. A templar, dominating the magister with a sinister silence. Siris could see the Knight-Captain Cullen shaking out of rage. Could he be that fast? That powerful? His eyes and skin had blue lights coming out… Was that the power of Lyrium? Siris never saw any Templars in Tevinter being like that.

"Making you Tranquil would be a punishment far too kind for you." He muttered, his voice darkened by disgust and rage.

He twisted his sword, the man screamed out of pain. But the Templar let him alone.

"I cannot let citizens do their own justice." He said. "Unfortunately, I was too busy freeing the hostage to notice the mage beheading himself with a great sword."

Fenris had a twisted smile. Siris could only see Hawke closing her eyes, as a sinister squishing and cracking noises followed the templar's words.

Knight-Captain broke the lock and took Siris out of the cage. In his arms, she was ridiculously small. She was crying, and shaking; completely in chock. She heard him asking the Champion to take the commands of the mission; while he exited the room. There were many templars running around the house. Some were gently escorting innocent elves and humans out, others were caring dead bodies, others were forcing criminals to submission. A nest. That's what it was. A nest full of slavers and malificars, holding prisoners to sell them or bleed them. They killed Geron and his family to get to her; those sick bastards.

But carried by the human templar, Siris couldn't feel afraid anymore. In fact, she could not feel anything, anymore. Except... Except this unnatural energy flowing in the templar's body. Lyrium. It was alive, yet discreet. In those arms, Siris felt in security. Sunlight hurt her eyes when they reached the outside. Many curious were trying to look at what was going on, but the city-guards were keeping them away. Chantry sisters were singing the Chant of Light for those who were no more, and those who survived.

The Knight-Captain brought Siris away from all of this. He carried her to a house nearby, requisitioned by the Templars for the mission. In one of the rooms, he sat Siris in an armchair. They were in Hightown, the chair was too comfortable to be from Lowtown. Cullen put a knee down and started to cut the ropes around Siris' ankles with his knife. He then moved to her wrists. The human remained silent, but he wanted to say something. Siris could not use her voice, or her brain. She was in shock.

"You were right." He finally said, sitting on a chair next to her. "We failed you. Your friends from the alienage were abducted, but survive. They are with the healers. And the malificar you mentioned was working with other blood mages and slavers. There was a network of sickening crimes happening right under our noses and we saw nothing."

"How did you… How did you find us?" Siris managed to say, her eyes, previously looking at an invisible spot in the room, slowly turn to the human.

Siris' eyes stayed a moment on the Order's symbole on the templar's armor, but looked up to meet Cullen's eyes. Lively brown, yet tired. Physically? Mentally too... Siris sighed. She couldn't think straight sentence.

The Templar stood up to take a cover and put it around the small elf's shoulder.

"The Champion had you under surveillance." He said, while serving a cup of warm tea. "When they knew what happened, they called us and the guards. I know it's… inappropriate to say it now but… You allowed us to stop these monsters."

It was a poor consolation. Siris could not hear these words and feel victorious. She waited in that empty room for a long time. Knight-Captain Cullen asked her to stay there until he comes back from his duties. Later, he brought her to the chantry which was sheltering all the victims found in the slavers' house. Then again, the young elf ended up in an empty room, in a bed, in warm, dry and clean clothes who belong to a chantry sister. She could not eat. The pictures her memories sent her were too clear, too recent. Sometimes, Siris felt sick and vomited.

She stayed a week in that room. She did not want to hear, or see, or feel. She wanted silence. But she could feel pain, despair; not hers, but others'. It was from the victims, the Templars, Fenris, the sick and injured sheltered by the Chantry, Cullen when he came to visit her…

The Knight-Captain came as often as he could. When he couldn't, a recruit would come to check on her and report back to his commanding officer. Fenris came every day with the Champion. She appreciated the elf's presence. they shared common feelings and similar memories. However, it did not change anything for Siris. Because of her, good people were tortured and killed. If only she went back to Tevinter when she woke up after the darkspawn. If only…

During a late evening, where Siris was in bed, not sleeping or thinking, a chantry Mother named Maryse came.

Mother Maryse was a gentle soul. A human from Orlais who came to Kirkwall to offer recomfort to the ones suffering from misery. After the raid in the slavers' house, Mother Maryse spent most of her time with the victims. Sometimes chanting the Chant of Light, sometimes making conversation, sometimes tending to the wounded. But she would also come to Siris and tell her stories. Children stories with good endings. She would bring warm milk with chocolate, made sure the fire never go out. Never a human treated Siris with so much care and kindness. As a slave, the elf used to be the one doing all those things for her masters.

But that evening, Mother Maryse opened the door and looked if Siris was awake. Then, she let someone come in. The chantry mother sat down in a chair in silent, while a familiar form kneeled down on the floor, next to Siris' bed. Lady Caravel was there, gently stroking Siris' hair with a worried face. Rainier sat on the edge of the bed, not sure what to do or say.

"The Knight-Captain of Kirkwall's Circle sent word." Emma whispered with kindness. "I came I soon as I could."

Siris started to cry. A human mage interrupted everything she was doing to meet her? She reached for the woman, who hugged her with both affection and worry.

"It's alright… It's alright…" Lady Caravel slowly repeated as the elf cried in her arms. "You're alright."

Rainier gently stroked Siris' ankle, not knowing what to do. At her demand, he and Emma stayed with her during the night. Having them with her… It was too good to be true. But it was! The circle of Ostwick granted the Knight-Captain's request and sent Emma Caravel to Kirkwall; with a Knight-Lieutenant and Thom Rainier who was helping the local chantry with little things. Siris did not say a word, but listened with interest her friends' stories.

When Emma and Rainier arrived at Ostwick, they made a stop at the Circle who gladly took the mage. As thanks for helping Emma, Rainier was offered shelter until he could figure out what to do with his life. Eventually he confessed his crimes to the Grand Cleric at the city's chantry. Supportive of his wish to do better, she asked him to start building his life by helping the Chantry: doing repairs, helping the poor, lifting objects too heavy for the clerics… He was doing spectacular when the messenger caring Cullen's request arrived at the Circle. The Templars could not spare too many men, so they ask Rainier for help. Besides, he knew Siris too: she was the one who encouraged him to do something good with his life.

And here they were. Both humans tending to Siris like worried parents. This time, it was a good feeling. Not like Danarius. Danarius was unhealthy in his "care". But Rainier and Emma… they were not.

They were good.

They were the best.

* * *

 **I hope you enjoyed!**

 **Next chapter: "Siris of Tevinter: Arc's Epilogue" coming soon.**


	7. 1rst Epilogue

**A short epilogue of "Siris of Tevinter" first part. I'm planning to write a new "season" of that story.**

 **Until then, enjoy!**

* * *

Kirkwall was restless when Siris went to the city gates with Emma, Rainier and Knight-Lieutenant Harvey. The young elf wanted to leave. As soon as possible, as far as possible. In her plans, Ostwick will only be a step in her long voyage. Before that, however, she made her goodbyes with Fenris and the Champion, and Ilia and Alia. But it was with no regret she departed.

Rainier, worried like a mother-hen, were carrying the little she had. She donated all the treasure she took from her dead master to the Chantry -more specifically to Mother Maryse who promised to use them to buy food and supplies for the homeless and refugees. Siris wanted nothing that could bring back a "Danarius". She had enough of the slavers and Tevinter cruelty. She wanted no ties with that country, not anymore.

"Are you sure you don't want to go to the Gallows?" Emma asked. "I'm sure Knight-Captain Cullen would appreciate to see you before we go to Ostwick."

"No. It's no place for you to be." Siris bluntly said.

It was the truth. The events at the slavers' house were still fresh in Kirkwall's memories. Things got worse when the Knight-commander Meredith came back from her journey to Orlais. Mages were treated as good as criminals; and Siris cared too much about Emma to put her at risk. No, the sooner they leave, the better. However, it didn't stop the young elf to feel bad not to talk to the Knight-Captain. He had been a true ally, almost a friend. And when she was around him, Siris could feel how much he was suffering: from the lyrium, from himself and from all that was happening in the city. She knew he did not know what to think anymore. When Meredith came back, she wanted Emma Caravel locked into the Gallows. Without the Knight-Lieutenant Harvey's intervention, the mage would surely be in a cell right now; and the Circle of Ostwick struggling to have her back. And the Knight-Captain Cullen didn't know what to do: defend the woman who help someone he felt responsible for? Or support his Commander? The result was clear: he did nothing.

The Knight-Lieutenant Harvey was a thirty-five years old human who served in Starkhaven's Circle before joining the Circle of Ostwick. He was a joyful man, even if it was hard for him to hide is worries. The Order was struggling as much as the mages did. The Chantry was relying way too much on the Templars; who, in return, felt not as respected as they should. But Siris knew while listening to the man, that he will not turn his back to his sacred duties: he will protect the mages against the world and themselves. And Emma seemed to appreciate that.

The road to Ostwick was a long one. The travellers had plenty of time to catch up. Siris knew about Rainier activities, but enjoy listen to him planning projects. He wanted to visit Ferelden, see if he could help with rebuilding: the blight was other, but it did many wrongs he could right. As for Emma, she studied Siris case closely. And now she knew Siris wasn't sick with the Blight, the mage could narrow down her researches. But even so, nothing she found could explained what happened to Siris; not by a longshot. But Emma did not admit defeat: she was determined to know; if not for Siris' sake, at least for curiosity.

When they reached Ostwick two days later, the news spread all other Thedas: Kirkwall's Circle rebelled. Thousands of people -civilians, templars, mages- died fighting. The Knight-Commander Meredith, in what appeared to be a strike of madness, imposed the Right of Annulment, when it was not needed. Most of the Knights refused to follow, and the mages put up a fight. Abomination and demons appeared out of fear and madness; mostly from apostates in the city. The Champion sided with the Knight-Captain Cullen to protect the innocents; and ended up killing her friend Anders who tried -and failed- to kill every Templars with a terrible spell "made in tevinter".

Siris listened every day the news coming from merchants and clerics. But she could not find the will to be compassionate.

Something in her was broken. But when she closed her eyes and emptied her mind, she could feel it… That distant presence. That being as light as a feather; invisible like heat waves above a desert's dry soil. It was like breathing the fresh air of a morning during spring, after spending days in a locked, dark room. And each time Siris reached for that presence who made her feel better, she could feel its gentle touch.

Something was trying to mend back her broken heart.

She did not know what it was.

But she wanted to meet it.


	8. Chapter 6: The Fen'harel 1

**Siris is back for new adventures!**

 **This time, she's travelling in the Emerald Graves! But why? What happened to Lady Caravel and Thom Rainier? How is the state of the world with Kirkwall's Circle's Rebellion?**

* * *

The Emerald Graves. Siris heard only rumours about these lands; but clearly, she underestimated their beauty. Hectares and hectares of endless forest, with the biggest trees the young elf ever seen; all shades of green and brown and blue… The wildlife was glorious: hallas, bears, nugs, trolls, all kind of birds; and the flowers…! The flowers were living jewels! Magnificent.

The only down sides Siris could spot were the humans' buildings here and there; and, of course, the "Freemen of the Dales". Deserters from the Orlesian Army, the pure embodiment of stupidity. Siris could understand that one would be sick of doing things for someone else. Fighting in a war that does not concern you, is one of the few worst things Siris could think of. But killing innocent people for no other reason but to impose your power does not make your cause right. It cannot be justified.

Siris avoided everyone that looked remotely human: freemen, refugee, even the Dalish. Indeed, a small caravan of dalish elves was traveling somewhere around these parts. But Siris had no wish to go to them. She wore their "markings", but she knew how greatly they misunderstood these tattoos. Besides, Siris was not interested in people thinking they're better than anyone else.

The Emerald Graves had something Siris wanted to see: the ruins. Elven ruins, to be precise. The Deep Roads were too dangerous for her to venture, and the humans were not friendly with lone wandering elf. More than once she was mistaken with a mage, or – how they called – an "apostate". So, Siris decided to go studied deserted elven ruins, far away from any kind of civilisation. Solely for researches; scientific interest. At least, that would be her answer to anyone asking questions. But the truth had many nuances. Siris could feel a presence in her being. A presence that only grow with time and exposure to magic. As long as she could not identify it, she decided to remain on her own, and went seeking for answers in ancient ruins.

Din'an Hanin. The Emerald Knight's tomb. The Warriors' final resting place. "Resting" was a big word. The knights buried there were not at peace. When she set foot in the place, Siris could feel their restlessness. It was like feeling someone slowly waking up from a nightmare. Somehow, the young woman hoped that coming here will be worth it; because that place was giving her goose bumps. Careful with where she set her feet, Siris wondered in the ruin, studying any carvings, any writings she could see. Her attention was then drawn to the architecture. People could come here to pray, at some point. Before the whole building was forgotten by living memories. The place was beautiful, and a bit sad. But Siris felt honoured to be able to simply stand in here.

Suddenly, a crack.

Siris ducked and hid behind a stone column. But only silent welcomed her caution. Silent only disturbed by the wind in the trees and her heart racing in her chest.

Steps. She could hear steps. Heavy, like a sick person struggling to walk. He or she or it was wearing some kind of metal clothing: Siris could hear the jingling of the chain mails. As it moved to the other side of the temple, the young woman slowly crawled behind benches in the other direction. Between a pillar and big carved rocks which used to be part of the ceiling, she had a look. Yes. It was definitely a "it", and _it_ was _not_ the friendliest creature in all Thedas.

 _A revenant._ Siris thought. _Could be a demon…_

She turned around to head for the exit.

She froze. The wall was not behind her last time she checked. And last time she checked, walls did not smell that bad. Or wore ancient armour. Siris looked up to meet blue lights as eyes looking down to her. A revenant. The elf tried to run away, but was stuck between the pillar and the rocks. As the revenant raised its hand, Siris saw everything ending. She was not ready to die; but that seemed inevitable… However, something reached her. Was it the old putrid hand of the revenant on her shoulder or the strange feeling on her heart? She could not say, but it was calming.

When Siris opened her eyes again, the revenant was standing still. Just looking at her, forbidding her to move with his heavy hand. It was like a skeleton with waxy greenish skin; and some slimy flesh in between. Its cheeks were empty: one had holes in it, showing what was left of inside the mouth. A bit of long white hair struggled to stay on its head. During these few minutes that seemed horribly long, Siris observed the revenant carefully, asking silently a million questions.

What is it doing right now? Why not killing her immediately? Was it waiting for its friend? Or was it going to perform some kind of ritual, which would have Siris –lucky her—as the sacrificial goat?

What was it before becoming a revenant? Was he a loyal guardian of the temple? An ancient enemy fallen on these ground in a forgotten battle, cursed to stay "alive" for all eternity? Was it human? Or elf? Perhaps, since it was so tall, was it a qunari? But then again, what would a qunari do in an ancient elven temple? Perhaps its Arishock had questions about the Emerald Graves or the ancient elves, a long time ago; and the man was sent to find answers. But ended up becoming a revenant… It was a theory. And Siris knew she will never have the truth: revenants did not speak.

The other revevant arrived. The first one turned Siris to face its friend. This one looked at her right in the eyes.

" _Ma… halani._ "

Siris blinked. Revenants did not speak. They were not capable of doing so. That was what she learnt from her former master's studies. If it was true, how could it…

" _Ma halani na (1)?_" She said. "You want my help?"

" _Halani_." It repeated, somewhat relieved (although the emotion did not show very well).

The other revenant holding her by the shoulder slowly dragged her to the stairs. They went down, under the temple. Siris, when she entered the building, noticed the access, but it was too dark for her bravery to handled. The revenant who talked did not care for light until the living person in the group tripped on something for the hundred time. It reached for a torch, and blue flames came out of it.

"What is that?" Siris asked, both fascinated and scared by this strange fire.

She did not get an answer. The revenant's ability to talk seemed to have great limits.

They walked down stairs again then went to the back of the only room. The smell of dust and humidity was strong, yet Siris could feel a small draught on her face. The revenants lead her to the wall, which most of it was but rocks on the ground. From the quick look and the poor quality of light, Siris would say it was rather recent.

"Did you do that?" She asked, not receive nothing but silence.

"Did someone else came here?" She asked again, as a human-made arrow was abandoned on the floor, as they went down the hidden corridor, behind the fallen wall.

The corridor was long and plane. The architecture suggested something old –very old—but very solid too. However, the lack of decoration would let anyone think the place was building in a hurry. Was it already underground or did time covered it all with hearth and vegetation? Was it built by elves? From what she gathered from human civilisation, before a certain point in history, they weren't much of builders as they were know. As for the dwarves… no, this corridor was not part of a thaig.

Siris and the two Revenants walked for what seemed to be hours in this endless, old, rustic hallway. During that time, the elf could spot strange things. Presences of human-made objects and some red glowing mixtures. It looked like blood but had the same intensity of lyrium.

People came here, _after_ the creation of this place. And these people had a hard time: had a point, the small group crossed path remains of revenants. The bodies were too damaged to allow them to remain alive: their eye sockets were just black hole, lifeless.

" _Dareth… Din'an-…shiral… ma… falon…_ " The talking revenant muttered with his broken voice.

"Safe journey to death, my friend." Siris translated.

" _Hanin… so'al… Din."_ The revenant said.

Siris had a glitch in her understanding. She was pretty sure it meant "Glory for the Dead", but the revenant's language was old and… well, pronounced with difficulty. For instance, the elf never heard the word "so'al". To many, elven was a dead language. But for people like Siris, who use it every day, it was very much alive: it changed. So, if this revenant learnt elvish centuries ago, it was not surprising that its vocabulary would be different from Sirs'. However, the young woman was surprised that the language was still, from what she heard, relatively similar.

Her thoughts were interrupted by the revenants, when they stopped. The small group was now in front of a wall. It was blasted, reduced to pieces by powerful magic, no doubt. Obviously, the ones who came here knew that the wall was but a condemned door; which lead to a dark room.

The revenant pushed Siris inside the room and waited outside.

As the young elf nearly crashed on the floor, torches on the walls lit up with blue ghostly fire. The room was gigantic. Low in height but deep and large, the floor and walls and ceilings were covered with glyphs, magical circles and retaining spells. Well… what was left of it all. Whoever stepped in the room before Siris, destroyed all the security. Siris followed the markings. Then she saw what these spells were supposed to guard.

There was a throne in the middle of the room. The backrest was tall and the sit was large. Obviously elven made, a man was sitting in that chair. He was an elf, tall, chained to the throne. A prisoner with an empty hand which used to hold an object, and a sword in the chest. Siris carefully came closer. She turned a concern look to the revenants, but they did not move an inch.

"I'm not sure what to do." She though out loud. "This man is dead."

 _-Is he?_

Siris jumped.

"Who's there?!" She shouted.

 _-No one. Since I'm not "here", yet I am._

"What…?"

The voice had no origin in the room. It was neither the voice of a man or of a woman. Its tone was cracked, trembled, yet calm and determined. Siris could also detect a bit of amusment.

 _-I am Healer. That's what I am._ It said as Siris looked all around her. _You could say that I am a spirit. That's what I am. And I am in the Fade. And you are my pupil_.

"I'm sorry to ask again but… What?"

 _-What? You really thought some kind of god saved you from the darkspawn's corruption? Believe me, if there is a god in this world, it is not living in the Fade. And honestly, I don't think it care much about us. So, pupil. I admit, I had quite some difficulties to talked to you. Your dreams where to chaotic for me to have a conversation with you, and the world you are living in is really poor with magic. But here… Here is perfect._

"Did you possess the talking revenant?"

 _-No. I am in the Fade, not "here". The revenant talked on its own. A strange performance, yet not surprising considering who he is guarding._

"That elf? Why so much trouble for a dead man?"

 _-That elf is many things but not dead. Asleep, but not dead._

"He as a sword in the chest." Siris bluntly said. " _anyone_ who know that's lethal."

- _Well… I am not "anyone", am I? That "man", as you say, is the reason why I cannot "physically" reach you. Why the Templars and the mages are at war today. Why the being in Thedas are terrified by magic._

"Are you talking about the Veil? The humans say it was the Maker who created it to punish the world from its sins."

- _Since when do you believe in gods? Especially humans' "Maker"?_ The voice asked. _As I said, this man is no god, but he sure though he was at some point. Less now. But that is not important anymore._

"Let's say I believe you" Siris said. "One man cannot be the sole reason of all that happened to the world: Veil and fear of magic and all." She continued while studying the dead elf. "Besides, I'm pretty sure he was killed only few days ago. If not by this sword, at least by time, hunger, thirst and asphyxiation… and the Veil was _not_ created last spring."

 _-Indeed. One man cannot be the reason. Fear of magic is only a consequence. By being rare, magic became something difficult to understand. And what one cannot understand, one is afraid of it. Ask you templar friend, what's he's name…? Cullen. He's terrified of magic, and for good reasons. But imagine a world where I would be as much common as birds in the sky or grass on the ground. Cullen, even if he cannot cast spells, would not be terrorized by my kind; and so, by magic._

"For the record, Sir Cullen is _not_ my friend." Siris growled. "And that does not explain how this man could have created the Veil and be punish for it; since the Veil is older than pretty much anything dead and alive today."

 _-Then, I'll do my very first lesson about the Art of Healing!_ Healer said, with a joyful voice. _Namely: observing. When you are in front of a sick living being, or an injured one; the first thing you'll have to do is to observe. What you will see will put you on tracks about what wrong. Is the person suffering? Is he or she unconscious? Is he or she bleeding or sneezing or shivering? Now, look around you. What do you see?_

Siris felt nervous. She did not agree being a spirit's pupil. She wanted to leave, to be far away, to have a warm cup of tea and few hours of sleep. However, she was pretty sure that if she tried to leave now, the Revenants would try to stop her. And Siris was no warrior.

"Alright…" She growled. "I see… creepy fire."

 _-Good! This fire is called "veilfire", it is a memory of flames._

"Magic then."

 _-Absolutely. And it appeared without you doing anything. And since we can talk while I'm not "here", what does all these informations tells you?_

Siris had a long though. Her former master's mages friends used to complain about how their houses where not strong enough with "nature magic".

"This place is full with magic."

 _-Yes! Yes! What else do you see?_

The elf looked around again. around the throne, there were all these circles on the ground, the walls and the ceiling. Obviously magic too, yet Siris could not feel anything from them. But, the sword in the elf's chest seemed powerful.

"The circles used to be magic, but they are inactive now. But the sword is different. Why would someone destroy restraining circles to kill the prisoner?"

 _-An excellent point._ Healer said. _Only by waking up the "dead man" can we find the answer._

Siris took a moment to process the sentence. Waking up the dead? That's it! She was crazy. She was hearing voices that asked her to perform blood magic. She was doomed!

"I'm no mage." Siris said, hoping to drive the demon away with reason. "And even if I was, I would rather die myself than bring the dead back to life."

 _-And I'm thankful for that. Necromancy is unkind to spirits._ Healer said with sadness in its voice.

- _But using magic is not necessary here, since the man is not, in a way, dead. Second lesson of the day: lethargy. A state in-between deep sleep and death. The person looks and feels dead, but is not. So, how do you know if someone is really dead or not?_

"How should I know?"

- _Guess!_

Siris muttered small curses. Was this "Healer" a demon, it didn't act like one… or at least how would a demon act according to Siris' imagination. Should she play along or try to flee? To flee? She was hearing voices! How could she _physicaly_ flee something that is in her head?Beside, it was hard to admit it, but the voice was saying interesting words. Was lethargy a real thing? How could she know if someone is really dead or not? Only one way to know.

She hesitated, but finally reached for the elf's heart. It was not beating, still like frozen waters. The prisoner was dead. Or was it? Perhaps… an old human slave back in Tevinter used to say that the soul's home was in the eyes. Perhaps it was the same for elves? The young woman opened one the "dead" man's eyes. The iris was light blue outside and green inside; and with dots of grey. Beautiful eyes, if Siris knew anything about it. Her first thought was that the irises were oddly pale. Probably a side effect of that "lethargic" state Healer was talking about. However, something was not right. Siris lifted the face to see better.

The pupils dilated.

The young woman jumped backward.

The man was alive. He was alive. He _saw_ her.

"Healer! Healer! Do you hear me? He's alive! He's alive! What do I do?"

- _Calm down, my pupil. He is alive, but cannot do anything else. Before we do anything else, here a word of advice; When someone is in lethargy, there are only to solution: if that person's eyes move like the elf's did (fast and extremely reactive), then the person is more likely to survive. If the pupils are slow to react, the odd of survivals are thin. Now, the sword in his chest is obviously the reason of his state. I suggest: take it off. Fear not: his kind are hard to kill, believe me._

Siris prayed to whoever might listen. She had no choice. The elf was alive: she could not decently let him like that. Then again, if he was indeed the one who created the Veil, then he might not be worthy of walking freely again. But if she did not do anything about his lethargic state, she might be stuck here forever.

The woman took the guard with both hands. It seemed heavy, and as she pulled the sword, she had to use all her strength.

* * *

(1) As usual, I'm taking some freedom with the language. Here "na" would be the accentuation of the question, like the "ma" in Chinese or the "ka" in Japanese.

* * *

 **Next chapter : coming soon!**


	9. Chapter 7: The Fen'harel 2

**Next chapter of the second arc of "Siris of Tevinter"**

 **Siris is exploring old ruins when two revenants brings her in a secret underground prison.**

* * *

She watched the bodies melting in the earth, like sand in a minute glass. The Revenants dragged the not-so-dead elf all the way from the underground prison to the outside of the Temple. And once their mission was done, they turned to Siris, thanked her and faded away.

The young woman felt sad and even shed a tear. Why was she crying for Revenant? They were already dead. Centuries ago, the persons they were died and lived again; forbidden to know rest. Now, they could both sleep.

"They were Arcane Warriors." The elf from the prison said, waking up, sitting up on the fat grass of the forest.

On the top of his skull, he had long braided brown hair. His clothing was a simple tunic with pants. Bare footed, pale skin, a small scar on the forehead. He was taller than the usual elf, and his ears were longer. And his eyes… they were sharp, filled with more… "natural" magic. He wasn't casting a spell or anything. The magic was just very powerful around him. Somehow, that kept the link between Sirs and Healer strong.

"They used to defend my friend."

"Who?"

"Mythal."

"Right." Siris nervously laughed. "Mythal. The Goddess. My day could not go any stranger."

"Goddess?" The elf repeated. He seemed to think, to sink deep in thoughts, like if he was trying to sort his memories out. "Yes. The wandering clans only made by elves. They believe… we are gods…"

" _We_?" Siris repeated. "So that… spirit… "Healer", wasn't talking crap when it said you are from another age. What's your name?"

"I'll tell you my name if you tell me yours."

Siris looked at him for a moment. What was his plan, He looked weak, probably because of that sword he used to have in his chest. But his eyes were cold, sharp, _intelligent_. In some ways, the young elf knew she would not win a single debate with hm. So, what's the point arguing? Besides, if he was indeed one of the old "gods", then he was probably more confused than her.

"Siris." She finally said.

"My name is Solas."

" _Solas_? "Pride"?"

"You know elven better than I though."

"I do. Although, my elven is probably not as good as yours…" Siris said before interrupting her thoughts. "Wait. What did you say? We never met before, how can you know…"

"When you took the sword away, I took the liberty to cast a spell on you. I did not intrude to far, just enough to get knowledge about… this world."

His voice broke a little.

He went into her mind, her memories. The only thing slavers never could take away from her. If anyone else tried to intrude like that, Siris might have consider brutally murder the person. However, right now, she did not know if she was mad at Solas or if she pitied him. He seemed… _old_ ; yet he looked rather young: he was thirty years old, perhaps? Physically anyway. He looked tired too, like if he saw too many battles, too many act of corruption, witnessed too many proofs of how terrible the world was.

She went to him and snap him behind the head.

"That's for intruding in my head!" She said.

"A violent respond? Typical." Solas spat.

"What's typical? If you went into my head, you'll know that snapping someone behind the head is an act of kindness." She said, sitting on the floor in front of her. "Now, quit the "shut up I'm a God" act and answer my question."

"And what question would that be?"

"Are you the one they call "Fen'Harel?"

"Who is "they"?"

"Who are you?" Siris asked, not bothering to answer his own question. "I was studying a ruin, when two revenants forced me to follow them into an underground prison, where I found what I think is an ancient elf from before the Veil… If that makes any sense because it has never been said, anywhere, that there was a time where this world existed before the Veil. But while I was in this creepy prison of yours, I discovered that a spirit built a link from the Fade while saving my life and assure me there was a time before the Veil. So, I'm sure you understand how confusing my day is."

Solas looked at her carefully.

She hated to feel his cold eyes on her. It was like he was trying to get in her head; although this time without magic. He changed his position a bit. The ground was getting uncomfortable and he was gaining energy. Siris wondered what the man was going to do. He, apparently, was not friend with violence. However, he was strong with magic. Siris never felt that much magic around someone anywhere, not even in Tevinter. Solas could easily break her neck with a finger snap.

And was he Fen'Harel? Siris had many doubts. A spirit told her so, he told her so… But that would be crazy! How could she -or anyone- believe that? He avoided to answer her question, meaning that he was, in fact, the one the Dalish elves called Fen'Harel. As such, he could do… well… _anything_. The better and the worst. Since this world did not seemed to please him, Siris was scared he might go amok.

And Siris helped him escape his prison.

Great.

She frowned. Solas was looking around; looking for something. More he looked, and more his eyes showed panic.

"Where is my orb?" He asked, almost shaking.

"Your… what? The sword is in the chamber, but I'm pretty sure it's not yours."

"Of course it's not! Where is my orb?!"

"I don't know! Calm down! I'm sure it must be in the prison, somewhere. You want to go there now, to be sure?"

Solas tried to stand up, but his legs were weak. He tried again and again, obviously refusing help. But the Revenants were gone; Siris was the only one around. She had the strong feeling he did not like her; which was not a problem: she disliked him too. She watched him struggle, wondering if he would ask for her help.

- _Could you at least_ try _to help him_? Healer asked.

"He, obviously, don't want my help." Siris answered. "Besides, I feel like he does not appreciate my presence."

- _Even after you saved him from his prison… So rude._ The spirit laughed. _He could at least say thanks._

"Exactly!" Siris smiled, feeling a connection between Healer and herself. "The gods these days… Ungrateful."

"You do know that I can hear you. _Both_ of you." Solas mumbled. "Fine! Help me out."

"Healer, did you know that technically, I'm a free elf now."

- _Yes! Congratulation by the way. I did not find the right moment to tell you that. Tragic end for your masters, but they kind of deserved it._

"I could not agree more." Siris smiled even more. "you would _not_ believe how rude they were: "Slave, do that! Slave do this! Slave scratch my back! Slave, check if my food is poisoned by having a bite; and all that. _Never_ a thank."

"Okay! I get it!" Solas growled, losing patience. "Could you please help me?"

- _Here we go! Much better._

Siris moved forward, grab his arm and helped him walk back inside the temple. She feared the stairs: for someone with weak legs, ruined stone steps were death traps. But Solas was steadier than she thought. They arrived in the prison and started to look. Fen'Harel described the object as a big sphere decorated with waves. But most of all, it was extremely powerful with magic.

"We used these artefacts to store our magic." He explained. "Some spells needs more magic than one can have naturally."

"What kind of spells?" Siris asked, curious, as she wondered around the empty throne.

"A big variety of spell, whehn I think of it." Solas answered. "Mythal used a spell that allowed her to read her entire library in only few minutes; seconds if she had enough magic."

"Does she have a lot of books?" Siris asked; then realised she talked about the Goddess using the present.

"She… Yes. She had the biggest library in all Thedas…" She said, with grief in his voice. "She would invite the children to visit it, and would read some for them. She was the first who built a school for her people; even the slaves had to attend to at least three lesson a week."

" _Slaves_." Siris repeated. "Even back then?"

"I… hum…" Solas hesitated, but preferred to be honest. "Yes."

"Did you… own any?"

"I had a few. They were gifts from my peers. I did not have the resources to acquire any, otherwise."

"and if you had the resources…?"

"I would have bought one, yes."

"I suppose it was how it worked back then?" Siris asked, not sure she wanted to know the answer.

"Yes, it was." Solas said. "Although, I did not agree with the principle."

"Of course."

Siris said that with bitterness in her voice. Of course, he would not agree with the notion of slavery: he was far away from his time, and his home and Siris was the only one around to help him. Why arguing with the one that might save your life?

"Why did you not have the… resources?" She asked.

"Unlike my peers, I did not have lands or people under my command. I had a network of spies, though. Anyway, I had no fortune. Somehow, it was a blessing, it gave me the freedom to do as I pleased."

"good for you…" Siris mumbled. "Not to change the subject, but I can't find this orb of yours. Could someone have taken it?"

"The runes were dead when you arrived… and the sword." Solas thought aloud.

"Humans made their way to the tomb: I found arrows on my way in; with a strange looking crystal."

"Bring me to it."

Siris helped Solas to get outside the prison and brought him to the arrow covered with red crystal. She shivered just by looking at it. Fen'Harel looked at it and shuddered too.

"That not crystal. That's lyrium." He said. "But I never saw anything like it. Let's not touch it."

He raised his hand he covered with magic. With a swift gesture, the magic hit the lyrium and destroyed it.

"I don't like it." Siris muttered.

"Me neither. If my orb was taken by someone who does not know how to use it…"

"Can it produce that kind of lyrium?" Siris asked.

"No. As I said, the orb is like mice trap: it lures it and trap it." Solas said as they walk walked outside.

He sat on the root of one of the huge trees and went silent. He was thinking, probably sorting out the memories he copied from Siris' mind. Eventually, the young elf, started a small fire to cook the nug she trapped and killed before heading to in the temple. Solas did not say a word, but stayed. Eventually, he grabbed a long piece of wood and started to work on it. If Siris new anything, she would say he was crafting a magic staff.

"I wonder if magic can corrupt lyrium." He finally said as Siris brought him a piece of nug steak with tarragon. "Are you sure you never heard of this strange lyrium?"

"I'm sure I never. I used to live in a country were mages use lyrium freely all the time. And it's always blue and white."

Solas assented with a movement of the head. He seemed to warm up a little to Siris' presence.

He bit in the meat and froze. Siris watch him taste the food slowly, the texture, the taste… and he seemed to have a lot of question.

"That's nug, over there." Siris said. "It's armless, and since I'm not a hunter, it's easier for me to catch them. Halla meat is far more better, but there are too mistrustful to let me get close enough to them. Were the animals different when you come from."

Solas smiled at the "when".

"You are more intelligent than I thought." He said.

"I'll take that as a compliment."

"Yes, they were different. These… "nugs" did not exist. Or at least, not like that. And we used to have griffins in the sky."

"It must have been beautiful!"

"It was. But I'm sure this world has its share of beauties too. Any suggestions?"

"I haven't been around the south long enough, but so far, my favourite landscape is the Emerald Graves. Wildlife here he gorgeous!"

"Tevinter does not have beautiful place to go?"

"The cities are ice, I suppose. But going there as a free elf is as much a good idea as going alone and naked in the Deep Roads."

"What's the problem with the Deep Roads?"

"You… Well. The Blight of course." Siris said. "It did not exist during your time?"

"I'm not sure. Perhaps it had another name?"

Siris tried to explain to Solas what a Blight was and why the Deep Roads were off limits. As the conversation went, she told him her adventure with the infamous darkspawns, and how Healer and her "first met". At the end of the topic, Solas admitted "his" time never had corruption like that. His eyes suddenly filled themselves with worry and sorrow. He looked down, in shame. For a god, he was pretty sensitive.

"Perhaps it's my fault." He said.

* * *

 **Next Chapter soon.**

 **If you spot spelling mistakes, let me know! =)**

 **Tell me what you think of the story so far in the comment section.**


	10. Chapter 8: The Fen'harel 3

**_After getting free from a life of slavery in Tevinter, and fleeing the dangers in Kirkwall, the young woman elf Siris found a strange man locked up in a underground prison underneath an elven temple. The man pretends to be what the Dalish called an "ancient god', the infamous "Fan'Harel" to be precise. And his presence releaved a third party in this adventure: Healer, a spririt in the Fade who saved siris lives and decided to teach her the delicate art of healing._**

 ** _Solas, the ancient elf, claims he had an orb with him when he got lock in the prison. Its powers are so great, no one can risk to let it falls in the wrongs hands. So, Siris and Solas goes on a adventure to find this magic orb. but the man does not make the journey easy. And the red cristals -the red lyrium- makes Siris worried._**

 ** _What will happen?_**

* * *

There was no trace of a magic orb, or red crystals for that matter. As for the elven "god", named Solas, he slowly got his strength back; however, he was not really a talkative elf. Mostly deep in thought, he would follow Siris into the woods in silence. Not that the young lady wanted to talk to him. He screwed the world up. The Veil: his doing. Elven kingdoms destroyed: his doing. And for what, vengeance other a sweetheart's murder. Know, let's not get nasty: murder is wrong. But ripping the world apart is much worst!

As they walked on a cobblestone path, Siris could not stop thinking about the Knight-Captain Cullen, back in Kirkwall. When they met, she felt like he could turn into dust on a moment notice: the use of lyrium gave him a tired look that betrayed his nightmares and chronic pain _if_ he did not take his dose; And somewhat, Siris had the feeling the templar was pushing his luck: was he trying to stop? Was he trying to put more time in-between the drug's doses? Whatever the human was doing, it was not good for his health.

" _Healer? Can you hear me?_ " Siris thought.

No answered.

The young elf slow down to get closer to Solas. His noticed and knew that when she was doing that, it meant she was trying to talk to the spirit.

" _I hear you, Apprentice._ " Healer said. " _What is it that troubles you?_ "

" _Can you see what I see when I'm not around magical item or persons?"_

" _Yes and no. I can access your memories when you are near a mage, for example. However, you must grant me access. Is there something you wish me to see?_ "

" _A man. Human. Templar. In Kirkwall._ "

Healer explained to Siris how to let it have a look at her memories. The technique was rather simple: Siris had to think clearly about the memory she wanted to show and let go on her emotion, being completely relaxed. When Healer had its look, the elf could barely feel it.

" _I see. Lyrium addiction._ " Healer said. " _A nasty one, especially for living intelligent creatures such as humans and elves._ "

" _How would you cure him?_ "

" _I wouldn't._ " Healer admitted. " _This addiction is not a sickness, it can't be cured. If the addicted is willing, he must progressively stop taking lyrium, eat healthy, avoid alcohol and have regular physical and intellectual activities. What you could do as a healer would be to easy the chronic pains he or she would suffer from the withdrawal._ "

" _So even a spirit is helpless against this…_ " Siris said, a bit disappointed.

" _Yes, I'm afraid; especially since I'm not "here". Keep in mind that this voice you hear comes from the Fade itself._ " Healer said. " _However, as a spirit, I embodied an aspect of the world, in my case, medicine. And that does not only mean treatments, cures and operations techniques. I am the "will" and the "curiosity" of a healer too. Even the non-mage ones. Especially them._ "

" _So… If I studied, let's says lyrium addiction, you will learn with me?_ "

" _Yes. And next time someone needs my knowledge, I will be able to help."_

That was it. In her heart, Siris knew exactly what she had to do. She did not like the templar. Or at least, she hated them as much as she hated mages. But this addiction, this lyrium… It was bad. In some ways, Solas was responsible for its abused use. If the Veil did not exist, if the mages were still massively superior in numbers, no one would be scared of magic, and its effects. The Templar Order would have not been created! But since the Templar were there, and were suffering because of the source of their powers… The only issue was: how to get close to a templar without scaring him? Havign a link to a spirit directly from the Fade would be at best considered as an act of magic, making Siris a very weak mage. But at worst, she would be considered as possessed, a ticking bomb before exploding into an abomination. And that, was a big problem. No templars would trust her. Fortunately, having a link meant no physical changes. Healer was not here, and Siris was still Siris. If she was carefull, she could hide the source of her knowledge… At any case, not doing this was not an option. Afterall, the girl needed something to do, a long-term life goal… Looking for that blasted orb and figuring what that red thing was would put a lot of work on her hands, but if she had the opportunity to study the templars' addiction… She _had_ to seized it!

Siris and Solas walked for days in direction of Val Royaux. They had nothing to do there, but it was better than aimlessly wander in the Emeralds Graves. On the way, Solas took upon himself to teach some basic magic to Siris… even if she could _not_ cast spells like the average mage. Minor healing spells, ridiculously low powered anti-poison spells… And that was only possible when she was standing next to the Ancient-Elf-Yet-Living-God. In other words: none only she was _not_ a mage, but she was a terrible student when the lesson was about practicing magic, especially when there was no magic source near her.

"You get _at least_ the theory…" Solas often mumbled.

Right before their first village, the strange duet met a market on a crossroad.

"I need proper clothing." Solas said as they got closer. "As much as I like my current clothing, it will give us away if we meet these "templars" you mentioned."

"I cannot argue with that." Siris mumbled. "I think we could also find you a walking stick. You could make it a magic staff without raising attention."

Solas looked at her, ears up, genuinely surprised.

"I did not think of that. Unexpected."

"What is unexpected?"

"Well, clearly I underestimated your intelligence."

Siris took a deep breath in, and let it out. If Time was not going to kill that man, maybe she'll have a try someday. Ever since he went to the conclusion she was definitely _not_ a mage, he was insufferable. Underestimating her was a daily thing now and Siris learnt how to ignore it. Easy: years of slavery would teach you to let rich and powerful peoples' venom flow away. However, having to do that because of an elf… Siris admitted she felt hurt. How could an elf like her treat her as badly as a tevinter master? Hopefully, they'll find that bloody orb soon and be done with it! Solas will find a nice corner in this world where he will be able to judge whoever he wants. And Siris, she will study the effects of lyrium and made Healer's link with her worth it. But until then, she was stuck with that "this-world-is-not-good-enough-for-me" elf.

"I… I apologise." He said as they were looking the clothes for sell. "I understand how rude I've been."

"How unexpected." Siris grumble with a ironic half-smile.

"What is…?"

"Well, clearly I was unaware you had basic social skills." She said, mocking him. "Try this, I think it's your size."

"Are you mad at me?" Solas asked, genuinely shocked.

"Aren't you?" Siris answered, wanting really bad to punch him in the face.

"Of course, I am!"

"Then don't inflict on others, things you hate yourself." Siris spat out. "I don't how it worked in your time, but here, when you talk to someone, show a little respect. Especially to humans. Because now, you're nothing more but an elf. If you act like a lord, you'll be treated like garbage."

They went silent for a long moment. Solas went try some clothes. Anything suited him. The merchant had "elven socks" as h liked to call it. Boots letting the toes and heels showing.

"Here, try this." He said, giving her a long dress.

"Where does this come from?"

Siris was certain the merchant had not such dress: she looked carefully at his merchandise!

"I made it. With cloth that I bought from this _shem_ …man. This man." Solas. "It's an apology gift. Try it on at the very least."

The young elf sighed. She took the dress and went in what was supposed to be a fitting room. The sheet used as the door barely hid anything. And after so much time spent as a free elf, Siris was not so willing to undress in from of people anymore. But a shadow appeared, and she recognised the back of Solas. He was hiding her from improper looks.

 _He is not all bad…_ She thought.

The dress was long and red. A metal pin on each shoulder would keep the cleavage acceptable; while a string of leather around her waist would be used as a belt. Looking down, Siris could almost see the tip of her toes. The dress itself looked like the ones the woman would wear during Solas' time. Mythal and other ladies were represented in such style. Perhaps it was a bit too luxurious for a nowadays elf? But it was comfortable, more practical than expected and damn right beautiful.

"I thought if we wanted to travel without raising attention, we should think our cover." Solas said other his shoulder.

Siris got out of the fitting room, gently pushing the elf out of the way.

"What do you think?" She asked.

Solas looked at her carefully, with a critical eye. He adjusted the pins, to make the cleavage less obvious. Then, he gave her sling bag and her cape.

"You look beautiful."

"I never wore anything like this." Siris admitted.

"Of course. This style is centuries old…"

"No. I meant, I never wore proper dresses." The woman said, ears down.

Solas looked at her again, his eyes betraying a certain pain. What she said revealed more about the elves life-styles than anything she could have told him before about slavery. Doing shores or being punished, were things Solas could understand, in an odd sort of way. But not wearing proper clothing? Being depraved of dignity in such manners? Especially for women who are constantly asked to hide their body.

His eyes meet the ground a brief moment.

"May I fix your hair?" He asked, his voice down with shame.

"Please do."

She sat down near the fire place where people could gather around to rest; and Solas started to work on her hair. He started by freeing them from the suede lace. With his fingers, he measured their length, made disappear the knots (with magic without a doubt). He was braiding some locks, when humans around them started to whisper.

"Look how dedicated this elf is!" One said.

"that's what I call taking care of your wife." Another added.

Siris and Solas exchanged a look. That was it! Their cover! A married couple, on pilgrimage to thank the Maker for whatever reason! As Solas took Siris' place on the bench and she had a look at his hair; the two accomplices knew it was the best way to travel without being feared by the _shemlens_.

"Hiding for being a mage… The world has gone mad…" Solas muttered once more.

As they paid for supplies and went on their way, Solas seemed troubled; He kept looking at the sky. As much as Siris wanted to ignore the man, she was way to curious to let this strange behaviour alone. When she asked what was wrong, he did not answer. Not immediately. He looked worried, but not entirely sure why.

"A storm is coming our way. I think whatever it might be, it will meet our path tonight. should seek for shelter." He said.

"You can sense a storm?" Siris asked. "But there are no clouds in the sky, just infinite deep blue."

"Because there are no clouds does not mean there will not be a storm. You lived in a desert land, no? I'm sure you had to face sandstorms at some point."

"Of course." Siris replied. "But Sandstorms aren't exactly discreet. You always see then coming. And if not, the wind gives it away."

"Either way, as a mage, I'm more connected to the world than anyone else."

Few hours later, they saw the spire of a Chantry.

This first village they found had barely ten houses and three farms. A small village, one might say. But it was apparently big enough to build a small yet study chantry church. The building was strong with its stone walls. However, if Solas wanted to admire the old architecture, Siris immediately spotted the templar knights guarding the village. So, the young elf dragged her traveling companion behind a wall; discreetly enough to not be noticed.

"These are templars." She muttered.

"Armored brutes…" Solas commented as he looked to where she was pointing.

"They follow a code of honour and are very devout soldiers." Siris tried to correct. "As long as we don't represent a threat or use magic with them around, we should be okay. And when I say, "don't represent a threat", I mean do not cross them in any ways. Most of them are polite, but we are still elves in the middle of nowhere."

"I will let you do the talking, then." Solas said, worried. "I'm not sure how to deal with them."

And so, the two started the married couple act. The plan was simple: the Chantry was bound by chantry law to host any traveling faithful, whatever species they might be. Since no apostate would dare to come directly at the Chantry's door, the church was the safest building in the whole village. Add to this the coming storm Solas sensed, the stone walls were the only ones strong enough around here to protect them.

Siris took Solas hand by the fingers, loosely, as she saw many couples do when they walk together; and guided them to the chantry's door.

"Welcome to ValRosau, travellers." One of the templars, an old man, guarding the main entrance said. "Is there anything you want"?

"Good Afternoon, Sir." Siris respectfully said. "My husband and I are doing a pilgrimage to Val Royaux, we were hoping if we could find shelter in this Chantry for the night."

"Pilgrimage?" The other knight said joyfully. "Of course, come in! You wish to see the Grand Divine? I heard she is the kindest woman in whole Thedas. Go talk the Mother Elisabeth, I'm sure she'll be please to meet you."

The two templars opened the door. As the young elf respectfully thanked them for they warm welcome, imitated by the very silent Solas, they entered the chantry. It was a small place in comparison of the chantry Siris have been to. The main hall for prayers, and some alcoves for various use. A back-door lead, no doubt, to the living section of the chantry.

"I overheard the knights." A smiling Mother said, walking towards them. "It is not often we have pilgrims here, but it is sure good to have visitors! I'm Revered Mother Elisabeth, and I welcome you in this church."

"Thank you." Siris said, bowing her head a little.

The human cleric looked very old. In her red and white dress, the she had the help of a walking stick beautifully crafted. One of her eyes were closed and Healer whispered to Siris it was because of a bad illness the woman had when she was still a young girl. The Mother was a gentle soul, never hurt anyone, and was not planning to. She invited the two elves to the back door, and ask the Sisters to give them a good meal and prepare the beds.

"Separate beds, I hope you understand. This is the House of the Maker." Sister Emma said.

There were three sisters (Emma, Isabelle and Hélène), one Mother (Bérénice) and the Revered Mother Elisabeth. Emma was the youngest and perhaps the most naïve of them all. Isabelle was the cook, and Maker's Breath she was good at it! Siris rarely ate such good meal. Sister Hélène was the funniest one. During the entire meal, she read and commented with her own spices verses of the Chantry. Everybody laughed, at a point even Solas smiled! Everybody seemed to enjoy the new company, and both Siris and solas felt welcomed… until Mother Bérénice came.

She was a tall, thin and serious woman. When she entered the kitchen because of the noise, she looked at the two elves with dedain.

"They finally sent the servants I asked weeks ago." She said, making the two elves ears backing down on their head.

"Mother Bérénice, you are back." Sister Hélène said, annoyed. "May I present you Madame Siris and her husband Monsieur Solas, they are Pilgrims who arrived an hour ago."

"Revered Mother offered them shelter for the night." Sister Emma said, with a smile that wanted the mother to be happy too.

"Pilgrims? Elves?" the Mother nearly shouted. "Look at the girl! She has Dalish markings on her face! Thieves they are, at best."

"I'm not a dalish, Mother." Siris said.

"And even if she was, she would be welcome here either way."

It was Revered Mother Elisabeth, coming back from her prayers.

"It is the Maker's will to help anyone in needs, regardless of origins and believes. They asked politely if they could stay, the Templars allow them in the Chantry. They'll stay as long as they need to and we will treat them as guest. And that is my final word, Mother Bérénice."

The mother said nothing and went back to whatever activity she had. But Siris and Solas exchanged a look.

" _Yes. This one will be trouble."_ Healer whispered to both of them.

* * *

 ** _Next chapter very soon_**


	11. Chapter 9: The Fen'harel 4

_**After feeling Tevinter, then Kirkwall, Siris (a young elven woman) find herself in the Emerald Graves, studying ancient elven ruins... When two revenants force her to free a man from an old underground prison. The man, named Solas, turns out to be one of the Ancient Even God, the infamous Fen'Harel, the Dread Wolf. With only his orb in his mind, the elf and Siris are not best friends. Looking for the magic orb, they arrive in a small mountain village right before a terrible storm hit the land...**_

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It felt like an earthquake at first; a small one, that only makes the walls tremble. The storm came, as Solas predicted. However, not even him saw it coming. There were rather high in the mountains, and many villagers said it was normal for the weather to change so fast. Nevertheless, it did not reassure Siris. It was her first "wet" storm. Back in Tevinter, she had survived sand storms and electric storms; but it never rained. Right now, it felt like all the water in the universe was falling on their heads.

In every little way they could, Siris and Solas helped: drying clothes, preparing warm meals, stacking up blankets… Everything went rather well: Revered Mother Elisabeth's gentle words allowed the townsfolks to organise calmly. Everybody was to come inside the Chantry until the "Maker's displeasure calms down". The village counted forty-seven souls, fifty-four with the chantry cleric and the two templars. Fifty-six persons had to survive threw the night in the chantry that seemed suddenly very small.

"We got a missing child." Knight-Captain Jean announced to Mother Elisabeth as Siris helped sister Emma wrapping a blanket around an old woman. "I'm going with Nicolas looking for him."

"This is not advised." Solas said. "The storm is getting worst. If you go, you might survive."

"And if we don't go, a child can die." The Templar calmly said.

"Solas, _love_." Siris intervened, insisting on the lovebird nickname. "I know you are worried, but let them fulfil their duties. Templars are strong! They'll come back."

Siris wished they stayed; the storm was terrible and even if it was a horrible thing to say, better that a child does not make it rather than the only security against malificars, bandits and demons from miles around. "The greater good" as some may say. Besides, she did not spot any adults looking for the child. An orphan maybe?

But no one had the time to continue the debate, as screams came from the building next door. Knight-Captain Jean rushed outside, imitated by the townsfolks near the noise. Siris and Solas made way to see that the two-floor house fell on sir Nicolas when the thunder hit the roof. His legs were under tons of grumbles. Siris felt her heart rush. Adrenaline. Lots of it. Her feet almost flew to the poor man. The rain was ruining her hair and clothes, freezing her to the bones. She almost fell on the ground when the mud made her overbalanced. Another scream. A baby. Sir Nicola looked at her, pain and terror in the eyes. But then some courage.

"Take her to safety!" He shouted over the storm, as he put in her arm a tiny child wrapped into clothing. "Get out of here!"

Siris felt Solas forcing her inside the chantry. She tried to fight back. The man! They had the save him! The building was going to… But once inside, the elf took the babe from her arm, gave it to someone and took her aside. Both his hands on her shoulders, he looked at her with cold anger.

"Don't. Do. Thing. Again. Ever."

"But the man…!"

"Is a templar, not my friend, neither is yours." He said. "Our mission is more important."

"Our mission?"

"Yes. The orb."

"So, because you lost your pressure orb, we should just ignore someone suffering? His legs are crushed! I'm not staying here while he dies in fear."

Siris freed herself and ran outside again. some tried to stop her but it was useless. Knight Captain Jean was trying to free the young templar, but it was no use. Siris took Nicolas' face in her hands to have a look at him. Without Solas' magic, she could not reach for Healer. Magic… Templars. They used magic thanks to the lyrium!

"Jean!" She shouted. "Use your powers!"

"What?"

"Just do it!"

The knight-captain did not think twice. The storm was getting worst. He emptied a vial as Siris got closer. She had to put her hand on his shoulder to feel it.

 _No time! The right leg is condemned. Cut it off!_ Healer urged her.

Indeed. Jean manage to free Nicolas' left legs, the over one was but gory porridge under the rubbles.

" _Vishante Kaffas_!" Siris cursed as the urge to throw up invaded her.

But she fought it. Jean was too busy with the rubbles to notice in time that his sword was in her hands. She muttered a sorry, and cut the last remaining nerves still holding to the lost flesh. The templar screamed and cursed. They had to hurry or the excruciating pain will kill him. Jean did not understand what happened, but when he saw the young elf pulling with all her strength his brother to the Chantry, he lend a hand. With almost no effort, he lifted the man in his arms and they all ran to the Chantry.

The doors closed right behind them.

Jean lie Sir Nicolas on the nearest mattress. Without exchanging any words, he and the young elf worked on freeing the legs from clothes. Their heads were almost touching as they were concentrated on their task.

 _Clean the wound_. Healer said as Siris was nearly head to head.

"Clean water. Now." She ordered.

She took two pieces of cloth. She used one to keep her hair from bothering her; the second to clean as much mud as possible. The templar came back to consciousness. He started to kick and scream as the pain rushed in his body. One leg gone, the other in pieces. What could she do? Then Healer showed her something. A hand pushing a point behind the neck. Siris reached for the same point and pressed. Immediately, the templar fell in a deep sleep.

 _Useful_. She though.

Siris followed Healer's directions carefully. Cleaning the wound. Stitching what can be stitch. Using honey? Siris did not ask why. She ordered on of the sister to fetch the giant pot of honey in the kitchens. Soon, the healer generously applied the gold liquid on the amputated leg. Everybody looked at her as if they saw a naked qunari dancing drunk and naked with multi-coloured nugs in a Chantry. She tried to ignore the looks as she "finished" the leg.

"Stay where you are, _shemlen_!" She ordered Sir Jean as he though to let her do… whatever she was doing. "Don't ask."

Siris went for the second leg. It was broken and had few hopes to fully recover one day; but at least, she could work with that. Following Healer's guidance, she set the bones back together and immobilised them with splints. Thanks to Sir Jean's help, Siris could even improvise a protective cocoon around the injured limb with large piece of clothing.

Then, they spent the next few minutes taking the armour off and change the young templar's clothes with dry ones. When it was done, people were back to they worried activities. The storm was still screaming outside, but everyone was safe. Sister Hélène put an extra blanket on the injured templar, smiled at Siris and whispered a "thank you", before leaving to attend to the villagers needs. The elf's attention turned to Sir Jean, sitting, like her on the floor. He was worried and deep in thoughts; but mostly he was looking at her. The lyrium inside him had cool down: Siris could no longer se the blue light coming out of him.

"You are a healer." He said. It was not a question. "But I'm not sure you knew what you were doing: honey?"

"It helps with the scaring process." Siris bluntly repeated what Healer told her. "It's pure so no infections. And it's sticky: it limits the bleeding. The sugar gives the body what it needs to gather strength."

That was an improvisation based on logic: Healer was no longer there to help her.

"You learned that in your dalish clan?"

"Hum… yeah. We were short on mages, so some of us became healers…"

A lie. And he knew it. But his eyes were telling her that if Nicolas survives this storm, she had nothing to fear. However, the human had to survive.

"Is the elf your husband?" The templar asked.

Siris said nothing, preferring to let him think she was adjusting the man's pillow.

The walls trembled again as the storm got excited. The wind was furious and the lighting no better. Siris could feel her ears lower down every time the thunder would lash out in the sky. The Chantry was mostly silent. The children would cry, the adults would mutter their worries, the clerics prayed the Maker. As the young elf looked around, she could see Solas in a corner. Sitting alone, not looking at anyone, not caring much.

The younger elf shivered. Her clothes were wet and cold. She stood up and went to a chantry sister. Changing in the room they prepared for her and Solas, Siris put on a sister's robe. She felt awkward in it, but apparently it looked good on her.

The young woman went back to the templars' sides. Sir Nicolas was doing fine so far. Considering his injuries, Siris expected him to be dead by now, under normal circumstances, anyway. However, having a link with a spirit of medicine could not be describe as "normal".

Siris' attention got attracted by a soft chuckle. She looked at the old templar. He wasn't really "old". In comparison with the young one, he was. Perhaps was he around his forties? Fifties at most. His hair, cut short, were greying and he had some tiredness in his green eyes that did not come from the rough day they were all having. His left cheek was marked with an old battle scar; disturbing the growth of his beard. Sir Jean may have not be able to shave for few days, the grey facial hair was making him a bit older, and somehow handsome. "Beard" was something Siris founded fascinating. Elves don't grow beards. She often wondered how male elves would look like with hair on their chins…

But Siris' attention snapped back to the _shemlen_.

If the effects of the lyrium were mostly gone by now, the elf could still see his abnormally blue veins. He must have felt her eyes on him, because he faked few coughs to get her attention.

"That's what you get when you consume lyrium has long as I did." He said. "And I'm one of the lucky one. Fifty-six years old and I only forget to eat only twice a month."

"Forget?"

"Memory loss. With the nightmares, paranoia and physical toll; and you have few of the downsides of being a Templar."

"Are there more?" Siris shyly asked.

"Well, you get to drag children out of their homes and make intelligent being into drooling vegetables." Sir Jean said with a poor smile. "Being a Templar is a fine job."

He was not convinced. He looked at her with sadness.

"I know madness is waiting for me." He said. "It has been too long since I could have a good night sleep. I believe in the Maker, and I believe I served him well. But I don't like my job."

He paused.

"But when I see you, and these people, I remember why I chose the Lyrium. Why I decided to be a Templar. Even if I won't wish this life upon anybody, I'm glad some like the kid choose it. Protecting the people against the malevolent effects of magic… There are no better things to do with your life when you don't know what to do with it."

Siris said nothing. She could only try to count the templar she met. Three in total. Knight-Captain Cullen, Knight-Captain Jean and Knight-Lieutenant Nicolas; whose carrier was probably finished. Her mind came back to Kirkwall. Cullen. How old was he? Could he be saved from the lyrium? Could sir Jean be saved? He was convinced to be doomed by fate. But was he?

"The Templars are useless." She slowly said, driving the man's attention to her. "That's what I though. Where I come from, the knights would show up only during risky rituals or when someone wanted a rival gone. Templars are no better than strong lyrium addicted grunts."

"You're from Tevinter?!"

"But then I found myself in Kirkwall." She ignored him. "I met there a man, a Templar. The alienage was at risk, and when I though he wouldn't listen, he… saved us. Brought most of the order and the guards for us."

A silence fell on the two. Siris checked on Nicolas. He had a small fever, but nothing surprising considering the extent of his injuries. The bleeding stopped, thanks to the honey. She made him drink a bit of water before the poor _shemlen_ fell asleep again.

" _Creator, habeo clementia um ea_ …" Siris muttered, hiding her tired face in her arms.

"What did you say?" Sir Jean softly asked.

"Maker, have mercy on him." Siris translated.

"Was that Tevene?"

"Yes"

"What was the man's name?"

"Knight-Captain Cullen."

"You mean, Knight-Commander Cullen, from Kirkwall's Circle?"

"He was a captain…"

"Not anymore." The Templar said. "Haven't you heard? The Circle have fallen. It a rebellion. Meredith got crazy, so he took matter in hands."

Siris heard the news when she was in Ostwick. But she didn't know Cullen became Knight-Commander. He deserved the promotion: he stood up for the people and not for the madwoman that had become Meredith. But… it felt wrong. When she met the templar, she knew that somewhere deep down he was trying to get himself out. Become commander was bounding him even more to the Order, no? she sighed. Why did she care? The _shemlen_ probably forgot her, why should she worry for him?

Siris also knew that the rebellion spread across Thedas. But so far, she hasn't felt its effects yet. These parts of Orlais were surprisingly quiet. Sir Jean explained that here, unlike most places, people were very devout. The civil war took its toll on the inhabitants, so they were taking care of each other as a reaction. The templars leaving their duties were completely cast out, not only from the Order and the Chantry, but also from their hometowns and family. But he admitted that as time goes, fewer warriors felt that way, and more were deserting every day. Last week, there were four templars in this village. Now, there were only an old man and a kid who got promoted Knight-Lieutenant; since the last one left them to go hunt apostates.

Sir Jean and Siris talked for what seemed to be hours. The storms was too loud and violent for the elf to sleep, and the Templar seemed happy to have some company. At some point, titles and origins just melted away, leaving only two intelligent beings exchanging ideas, feelings, worries and hopes of the future. Knight-Captain Jean had a dream: to be free from the lyrium, one day. When he heard Siris dreamt to find a way to do just that; the old man smiled at her with kindness.

"I hope you'll find a way, _Madame_ _Siris_. That I do…" He said with his Orlesian accent.

"The storm!" A woman shouted. "It stopped!"

Before anyone could do anything, Sir Jean was on his feet, ordering everybody to remain inside the Chantry. He went outside, and time seemed to slow down. Everybody was on edge, wondering how badly the village got damaged, how long it will be to repair and heal. When the templar came back, with his sword hanging from his belt, a relief submerge everybody in the Chantry.

"All clear. Be careful when walking by the houses."

And so, the village came back to life.

By the time the storm stopped, it was already day. Morning was bright and new… however the baby Sir Nicolas saved was dead, just like his parents before. A "mountain accident" as the villagers said. The father went looking for wood, tripped and fell to his death. The mother died two weeks after giving birth, after drinking poison. As for the baby, he had already passed away when the templar found him, but only Solas noticed it until things calmed down. It was why he shoved the little corpse into someone arms. That sole idea made Siris' heart bitter: how could he treat a baby's corpse like it was a sack of flour?

"It is sad." Revered mother Elisabeth said as Siris was trying to wipe tears off her face. "But the babe is with the Maker now."

It was little comfort, but Siris would hold on anything she could. When she went back in the Chantry, she went into the room the sisters prepared for her and Solas. On one of the beds, she found a letter, written in elven.

" _Da'len,_

 _You took great risk last night to save this one human. And by talking to the old templar, you gave up our cover and my only security._

 _I don't blame you. In fact, I would like to address formal apologies. Your heart was and is in the right place. Since we met, it has always been that way, but I was blind. I regret not treating you the way you deserved, and hope you'll forgive me one day._

 _This is why I am saying goodbye. I am going to look for my orb alone; and try to see this new world with better eyes along the way._

 _Allow me to offer you this pendant. I made it last night and enchanted it. It will allow you to contact me if you need it; but most of all, it will allow you to contact Healer at will. All you have to do is to make a wish._

 _I can only hope you'll keep an eye out for my orb; for reasons, you already know._

 _Ar lasa mala revas, da'len._

 _Dareth shiral._

 _Solas_ »

Siris read the letter few times, holding the pendant in her hand. It was a smoothed rock with a green spiral painted on it. As she let her fingers run on it, Siris could feel the magic; that calling Healer was easier even so she hasn't tried yet. But her attention was drowned by the letter. Every time she read it, she repeated the last words. " _Ar lasa mala revas_ " was a writing she saw and studied back in Tevinter. It was an honourable thing to say and to receive; since it was only said when one gave a slave his or her freedom, during the old days where elves rules the world.

It meant that Solas saw her as a slave. A bloody slave; nothing more… Until now. Siris wanted to hurt him. But it would be both a waste of energy and beneath her.

At some point, she was so frustrated he left without saying a word in person, that Siris decided to keep her mind from doing anything too intellectual. She went to the bathroom and clean up. It was cold but at least the temperature was not "special elf treatment". She put on the dress Solas gave her. It was now dry, thanks to the chantry clerics who took care of it. Siris was not too sad to leave the chantry robe aside. It felt wrong to wear it.

Now mirror.

She needed to fix her hair, if not to be pretty, at least to be taken seriously.

But when she looked at herself, her heart skipped a beat. Who was that?

Siris put her hands on her face. How did this… No, she could still feel the scars… but where did the ink go? Her tattoos were gone! She rushed outside and looked for Sir Jean.

"What happen to your tattoos?" he asked, an eyebrow raised. He was helping the villager to clean a half-destructed house.

"I don't know!"

"And where is your husband?"

"I don't know!"

Siris' heart was racing. Her tattoos. What happened? When? How did it vanish from her face without her noticing?!

Sir Jean made her sit and ask someone to bring water.

"You need to calm down." He said with a soft voice, as he kneeled in front of her. "It's going to be fine."

Was it?

How long did she have her tattoos? How long did she looked at herself in the mirror and saw a mistreated slave elf, whose Master's daughters forced the ink on her face?

Sister Emma came to the rescue and escorted Siris back inside the Chantry.

What was she supposed to do now?

* * *

 _ **Next Chapter very soon!**_


	12. Chapter 10: the Village in the Mountains

_**sorry I'm late!**_

 _ **Here is a new chapter of Siris of Tevinter. I hope you'll like it!**_

 _ **After Solas going Maker-knows-where, Siris find a place in the village; thanks to Ser Jean. If everybody is releaved to have a Healer, and don't seemed to care if she's an elf or not; things don't go well for long. Indeed, Mother Bérénice called for a group of Templar to come. are they here for Siris? Are they renegades? How much trouble will they be?**_

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The night was calm, with a thin line in the sky as the moon; and a little breeze to cool the summer heat. The village was still mourning the death of the last member of one of the families, the little baby Sir Nicolas tried to save. But the harvest took over most thoughts... and so did a group of Templars.

They came three days after the storm, marching and grandstanding; they _ignored_ the Revered Mother _and_ Knight-Captain Jean, to only talk to Mother Bérénice. As soon as it happened, Ser Jean asked one of the local farmers to let Siris live in his house until the templars were gone. His excuse was that if she stayed, the Templars won't have enough room. The true reason was that they looked at her in a way the Knight-Captain did not like. They were not interested in putting her in their beds. It was more like they were trying to figure out her "game". And if they discovered the source of her knowledge… Maker... No one wanted to know what would happen if they figured that out.

The villagers took advantage of the young elf's relocation: soon, Siris became the Village's Healer, not only the Chantry's. Thanks to Healer's help, Siris successfully deliver a baby, took care of a child under the effects of a sun pain, manage to convince the local barman to quite alcohol during the day and took care of a great many injuries due to the harvest; while overseeing Ser Nicolas' recovery. But that particular mission was a difficult one. His injuries were great and he was in terrible pain, but the young man always looked forward seeing her and smile each time she would visit him.

No, the true problem was the other Templars. There was something unhealthy about them; but neither Siris or Healer –or Knight-Captain Jean for that matter— could figure out what it was. And the "intruders" were not so keen to let Siris get close to them. Not that she wanted to. Ser Jean did ask the young elf to avoid them as much as possible; which had to mean something.

Siris was sitting under a small shelter used by the farmers to protect them from the sun when they would take a break. The moon was high in the sky, and the sun far behind the ridge of the mountains. Most villagers were either finishing todays work by putting away their tools; or by drinking and singing at the local bar. Siris could hear them joyfully drink for afar. And she smiled each time her new benefactor would sing a tune with his friends. Monsieur Gaspard could _not_ sing. But everybody, especially his wife and children, enjoyed him doing so: it was so funny that one would easily forget the downsides of one's day. But if the man and his family were done with the day, Siris still had a lot of work to do.

She started the day by scouting the village's surroundings. As usual, Healer taught her everything it knew about the plants or minerals they would encounter. If nothing was worth noting, the spirit would talk about different illnesses or injuries. Recently, it was mostly about technics which could help either Ser Nicolas about his injuries or the farmers in their their fight against the summer's sun or vicious animals and plants. Hornet stings were, at the moment, the worst; and many farmers told their children to stay as much as possible indoors; while the blacksmith tried to find the nest. So far: no luck.

late in the morning, the young elf spotted the templars scouting the area. So, Siris went to check on Ser Nicolas. For that, Sister Emma would always help. Thanks to her dedication, the young templars was doing better than expected. Each time Siris checked on the wounds, they were scaring just as planned: not too fast, not too slow, no signs of infection. As suggested by Healer and with Ser Jean's authorisation, Siris cut the young templar from Lyrium. Not completely though. She would put three drops in his water three times a day. At first, he was not feeling well. But soon, Nicolas started to go over the withdrawal's effects. He was sleeping poorly because of the nightmares. However, Siris was working, with Healer, on a way to calm these terible dreams down. So far, so progress have been made with a light relaxing potion and some good quality conversations.

 _He is a young athletic man in good health who lost a lot of blood._ Healer explained. _His body can recover much faster from drugs addictions. But I don't know how Lyrium withdrawal will manifest itself in the long run. It seems he is doing better, but we must remain vigilant._

The biggest risk was the "I'm feeling better" feeling, when in reality, deep in the body, things were getting worst. But Ser Jean was highly invested in the young man's future. If Ser Nicolas could get rid of his addiction, others could. And perhaps templars, in the future, will know the notion of "relaxing retirement". So, the older man would let Siris experiments few tricks, as long as he could understand her explanations.

After visiting Nicolas, Siris help with different problems the villagers faced everyday: hornet stings, sun burns, dehydration, cuts, bruises… then, at the end of the day, the young elf was working on sorting plants. During the harvest, a woman found a great deal of plants that were not supposed to be in the fields. But instead of throwing them away, she collected them for Siris, in case some could be useful to the healer. A great woman this farmer was! Basil, Elfroot, Chamomile, Embrium and even some Royal Elfroot! With this, she will be able to make medical mixture and potions, just like Healer showed her in her dreams. And to sort all these plants out, Siris had help: Sister Emma. The young lady said she offered her help because helping in such manners was doing her job, the Maker's will and such… but Siris could feel there was more.

Emma was young, but too shy and too devout to be out of the chantry more than an hour per day. However, since the Templars showed up, she would spend the entire day outside and come back as late as possible. The Mothers said nothing: helping the others was part of their duties. But harvest was hard work, and so was blacksmithing. At some point, everyone in the village agreed that the chantry Sister was more useful with Siris. The elven woman appreciated the help; and the talks. Emma was more talkative than she was willing to admit. With their daily activities, the two women had plenty of time to know each other better.

Following Ser Jean's advises, Siris never told anyone that Solas was not her husband. So, Sister Emma truly though Siris was in pain because the elf dumped his wife in the middle of nowhere. But little she knew that her new friend was upset because of her tattoos' disappearance. Another thing Siris and Jean put on the terrible husband: villagers were told Solas hid his magic from Siris and revealed it by taking away the ink on her face.

"We can still see the scars." Sister Emma said, while carefully taking the elfroot's leaves off their stalks. "I've been told making the tattoo are very painful."

Siris froze at the memory.

Bound with magic and chains.

Two crazy girls using their magic to mark the elven slave's face.

To see how painful, it was.

To see if that would make Siris more "Dalish".

To see how exotic, they could make a common slave.

"I—I'm sorry… I did not mean to hurt you…" Emma whispered, putting her hand on Siris'.

Drove by her instinct, the elven woman took her hand back. Slaves must not touch humans…

Slaves?

When Siris looked back at the Sister, she knew her gesture was misinterpreted. If only Southerners knew how different their ways were…

"Very." Siris said, trying to fix her clumsiness. "I suppose the Dalish clans must do it better, less painful. They have more experience."

"I can't imagine how life must have been in Tevinter." Sister Emma shyly said.

Everybody in the village knew that Siris was tevinter. They assumed she got away from slavery thanks to the intervention of her "husband". But Siris let them speculate. They did not need to know more about her.

"It must have been a relief when _Monsieur_ Solas saved you."

Siris could not help a smile. Solas? Saving her? Not really. Quite the opposite in fact. But that was not a story Siris could tell a Chantry Sister. Moreover, no one saved her from Tevinter but Healer, the spirit still living in the Fade who made her its apprentice. But the elven woman was not going to tell her that.

However she needed to break the awkwardness between them, at least a little. So, Siris decided that telling her story would help getting along. However, she skipped the "I was almost killed by Darkspawns then got saved by a spirit; before saving an ancient elf getting out of his prison" part.

"I saved myself." Siris said. "I met Solas later."

"Really?"

Sparkles exploded in the Emma's eyes. She was like a kitten in front a tasty piece of tuna, _very_ interested and _hungry_ for good stories. Who could blame her; she was born in a village even smaller than this one, and only knew story from the Chant of Light. No many travellers came threw this village, and sells stories from the farmers were not as entertaining as the ones a healer from Tevinter could have.

"I wanted to join Ostwick, in the Free Marches, to put some distance between Tevinter and myself…"

And Siris started to tell her story. How she met the good warrior Rainier and the strong-willed mage Lady Caravel. Then, how she arrived in Kirkwall, her feelings towards the place. The city belonged to Tevinter once, and was one of the biggest hub of the slave-market. She described it to Emma with as many details as she could: the Chantry Sister was thirsty with details and stories, like a child. Then, the elven woman told how the Guard-Captain let her in the city, and how she introduced her to the Champion of Kirkwall. When Emma asked why, Siris though it might be a good idea to avoid the subject of a grey warden apostate running a free clinic in the sewers… So, the elven woman said that Lady Hawke was in love with an ex-tevinter slave (which was the truth) and she was helping any slaves on the run.

"When I had enough information on the city and how people live in the South, I was advice to go to the alienage. It was a dreadful place, but I met good people there. However, I was far from imagining how much trouble I was in."

"What happened?!"

"Well… In the city was hiding a _malificar_ , a blood-mage. He stricked elves by pretending running a free clinic at the port. When I first heard of him, it was from a victim who manage to escape him. But the dangers were great and she was scared to say anything. So, I volunteered to go to the Circle and seek the Templars' help. I was supposed to give a letter I wrote, but my southern was so bad the Knight-Captain asked me for more details! It must have raised the murderer's attention, because next thing I know, I was captured. When I woke up, I could see my Master's friend, Magister Danarius. In his will, my master gave me and the other slaves to Lord Danarius. Since I was the only one left, he wanted his property back. But he came in person because Lady Hawke's friend used belong to him."

"Maker! That's awful! What happened next?"

"Hawke and her lover came just in time to save me." Siris said, her heart painfully squeezing in her chest, as she remembered the gory fate of the generous elf named Garon and his family. The elven woman did not have the heart to tell that story. Not yet. "But it was a Templar who made the difference."

"Really? Who was he? Or she?"

"Knight-Captain Cullen. He supressed Danarius' magic, and pin him down with his sword. He was so fast; my eyes could not follow! It was amazing! And scary! Then he freed me and carried me outsi—"

" _Knight-Captain_ Cullen? He hardly deserves that title."

Siris and Emma turned their heads at the sounds of a deep voice. Knight-Captain Fernand, leading the little band that Sir Jean was trying to keep away from Siris.

Ser Fernand was a forty-year-old small human with brown hair, grey eyes and pale skin. His armour seemed too big for him, even if he had the muscle structure to wear it. As Siris looked at him, she couldn't stop remembering when she first met Cullen. She remembered his skin, strangely blue veins under his pale skin… _Blue_ veins. Bluer because of the lyrium. Then why did Ser Fernand look abnormally _red_?

"A good job with the child." The man continued, talking about Ser Nicolas. "His templar time is finished. But I'm sure the Maker will find a use of him."

"Do not talk about Ser Nicolas as if he was already dead." Sister Emma shyly intervene. "The Maker look kindly to the ones who sacrifice themselves for others."

"He gave up his legs for a dead baby." Ser Fernand spat. "there is nothing glorious about that."

"Templars don't seek glory, do they?" Siris bluntly interrupt. "Or perhaps the Southern Order is no better than the one in Tevinter?At least Ser Nicolas did what was right."

The templar looked at her carefully, an unhealthy grin on his face. He was offended, cold anger and his twisted dementia was showing a bit. If he could rip the young woman's head off, he would have done it. However, doing it in front of a Chantry Sister was not a good plan. Siris' guts were screaming: "go away! Go way!". And deep in her skull, she could feel Healer watching, worried, uneased. It was the first time a "new" Templar would be that close and the two accomplices agreed that if it happened one day, Healer was to watch carefully. Figuring out what was wrong with these soldiers was very important.

"You must be the famous "Siris" everyone in this village holds so dear. The Knight-Captain Jean tries really hard to keep you away from me." Fernand said.

"He does not." Siris replied. "As the only healer around, I have very busy days. Beside, why would I waste my time with someone doing just fine? Speaking of which, Sister Emma and I have much to do before supper, you may leave us to our work."

"Or what?"

"Or, if you can't help being a burden to us all, we'll move to monsieur Gaspard's house, where we'll be able to work in peace."

Sister Emma held her breath. The templar was steaming. Siris clenched her fist on her dress to hide her trembling hands. If she was in Tevinter, she would be served as sacrificial slave for the next ritual. However, not being in Tevinter did not mean she was safe. Many Templars went rogue to chase apostates across the south. And if Ser Fernand's company seemed to be loyal to the Chantry, it was their words against their actions.

As the silent became tenser, Siris invited Sister Emma to help her pack the plants to move them to Monsieur Gaspard's house.

Nothing else happened.

Ser Fernand remained near the shelter.

The two women arrived safe and sound to the farmer's house. When the work was done, Sister Emma went back to the Chantry. Siris prepared food for her generous hosts, a speciality of her homeland. Even without some of the key ingredients, it was still delicious. The children wanted more.

Siris could not stop thinking about the templar. Her hands were nervous, her heart was anxious.

She went to bed, but could not sleep.

* * *

 _ **Next chapter very soon.  
**_

 _ **You can give you opinion about the story in the comment section. I'm all for constructive critiques! Also, If you see spelling or grammar mistakes, please let me know!**_

 _ **Bonne Lecture!**_


	13. Chapter 11: A Night in the Rain

**Sorry for the wait!**

* * *

That was it. She was screwed... Again.

Dead… Again.

Done… Again.

Doomed... Again.

Hiding in a small alcove with Sister Emma and some children from the village, things could not possibly go more wrong.

It went so fast.

Earlier in the night, Siris closed her eyes to try to rest, and perhaps an hour later, Sir Jean brutally woke her up. Not being as sharp in the morning as she used to be in Tevinter (One might say it's one of the down sides of freedom), the Templar nearly dragged her out of bed by the foot.

"Get up. Get dressed. Pack light. Now." He said, looking carefully at the window.

There were things the young elven woman learned during her years suffering slavery. Rule number one: if an ally wakes you up in the middle of the night and orders you to pack light, you do it. You do it _fast_. Rule number two: run as fast and as far as you can. These two rules never really helped in the past: Tevinter slavers always catch runaways when they truly want. Which brings to rule number three: don't try to run away from Tevinter slavers… or anybody with power over you.

Siris, however, was not in Tevinter anymore. She put her dress on, grab the always-ready-to-go bag and climb down the stairs. Her hosts were packing two: mother and kids, the father grabbing home-made weapons. Pushed by sir jean, we exited the house using the back door.

It was night, and the rain was the kind to get worst.

Burning wet wood. Shouts. Fights.

Siris did not look back. She grabbed one of the children by the collar to keep the little one walking. They were crossing the field, which was a small hill. They were heading to the path right before the forest, but the wet dirt and the late hour made it difficult. The parents wanted to look back. The woman started to cry as she saw neighbours get slaughtered by crazed Templars. But Ser Jean did not let her mourn. He almost broke the woman's arm as the drag her on the top of the hill.

Hiding between the trees, the Chantry's Sisters, Revered Mother Elisabeth, children and some villagers. Leaning on Sister Emma's shoulders, Ser Nicolas was barely standing up.

"Everybody we can save is here. We need to move." Ser Jean said.

"What?!" Sister Hélène let out. "But there are so many left…"

"At this point, there is little hope for them. I came up against these " _templars_ " and nearly got killed." Ser Jean growled, massaging the bleeding back of this head. "If we stay here, we'll get killed."

"But if we stay together, they'll find us."

A moment of silence as everybody looked at Siris. The elven woman remembered perfectly her failed attempts to run away. Groups were easy targets.

"We should split and go in different directions. And with the _Creator_ 's kindness, we might survive these idiots." She said.

"I'm afraid she is right." Ser Nicolas said. "Knight-Captain, what should we do?"

Ser Jean took a moment to answer this question.

"Revered Mother, take the children. Knight Nicolas, you escort them with Sister Hélène, Isabelle and some of the families. I'll go with the rest and Healer Siris. Once you at a fair distance of the village, split up again towards Halamshiral and Val Royaux. Avoid the Emprise du Lion, go around. We will head for Haven and Redcliff. Maker be with you."

As the entire group started moving, the sub-divisions were made. Ser Jean looked behind a couple of times as the Nicolas' group disappeared in the forest.

" _Ea bea valor._ " Siris muttered.

"What does that mean?"

The elven woman had to think for a while. Her mind was so tired, she could barely find her words in Southern Common. Healer came to the rescue.

 _He is strong._ It whispered in Siris' mind.

The elven woman bluntly repeated the words, too tired to think straight.

 _When you'll rest a bit, you'll have to take a look to Jean's wounds._ Healer whispered again. _And your friend Emma needs some comfort._

Siris made a mental note of all of this. Everybody was to focus into keeping the pace. No one knew if there were followed, but better safe than sorry. Some of the children were crying. Twins in particular. In Sister Emma's arms, the siblings were apparently separated from their family when the Templars went amok. Their house was the first to be hit, and without Ser Jean, they would have probably been killed. Siris was exhausted, like everybody; But she found the strength to walked a bit faster to reach Emma. Then she took the little girl in her arms. The human toddler seemed massive in the elven woman's arms. But it took only moments for the little girl to calm down.

After hours of forced walk, the group split up again. Emma and Siris stayed together with the twins, Ser jean went with them and another young human who used to work with the blacksmith.

The other group went for Haven, so Siris' group started to climb down the mountain towards Redcliff. It was a long way to the valley, but with the advance they had, the people were confident.

Of course, the rain did not stop one bit.

Children, even as small as the twins, were heavy. The exhaustion did not help. At some point, the young blacksmith apprentice and Ser Jean took the babies from to give the ladies' arms some rest.

"We are still far from Redcliff." Emma whispered, tired.

"We are indeed." Jean muttered.

"Will it be okay for us? We _are_ Orlesians." The Apprentice asked.

"Sister Emma and I are part of the Chantry." Jean said. "They won't turn us and our companions away."

Siris was not so sure. The "red" templars said they worked for the Chantry too. What made the Knight-Captain Jean thinks the Chantry (and the Order) in Redcliff was any better? Her fingers find Solas' necklace around. The stone was resting on her sternum, the magic within sleeping. Siris could call the elven "god". But was she _that_ desperate? The man apologises for how he treated her (no more than a glorified slave), but the fact he did so with a letter made it less sincere in Siris' eyes. Then again, his magic and ancient experience with life could help… Which meant he could be in the other side of Thedas right now… Not really useful.

"Are you alright?" Sister Emma gently asked as the two ladies took the twins from the Templar and the blacksmith apprentice.

"Yes."

The young lady chuckled.

"Your accent gets worst when you are tired."

Siris could not refrain smiled. Being teased like that surely was a good change from her old life.

The group was walking down a slop covered with fat grass when Jean suddenly turned his head around.

"We got to hurry." We whispered, forcing everybody to keep their heads low. "Emma, Siris, bring the twins to safety. The kid and I will distract them away from you; We'll meet in Redcliff."

"What—"

The templar pushed the two women down the slope without much care. Siris and Emma lose their balance and slid. The twins woke up and it took a great deal of reflexes from the adults to cover their mouths before the little ones could even think of crying. From the pain coming from her foot, the ankle sprain was certain. But now was not the time to be delicate. Siris looked around and spotted a small trail going down in a rocky area. Dangerous but best place to hide. She notified Emma with a sign and the two women moved, trying to keep the pain from their wounds bearable, the children quiet and remain as discreet as possible. Once behind a large stone surfacing from the earth, Siris took a brief look up. Red Templars. Jean and the Apprentice were running in the opposite direction, the crazed soldiers on their tails. The darkness of the night and the rain did not help to see, but at some point, the shouts faded in the distance.

Emma pat her friend's shoulder. Siris turn around to see Sister Emma pointing further down, towards a small alcove. _We need to rest._ She silently articulated. The elven woman could not argue with that.

This is how they both ended up in the small rocky alcove, keeping the twins from the rain, waiting for the sun to show up; waiting for any signs of the templars around them.

"I wish I knew what to do." Emma finally said. "We did no wrong, have we? Why would the Maker send these madmen tormenting us?"

Siris took a moment to think. After a short rest, her Southern Common was more fluent.

"Lady Caravel, a friend of mine, said the same thing to me we learnt what happened in Kirkwall. She has the same name as you, "Emma". She's a good human-mage… Do all Emma-humans-ladies good?"

"I don't think so." Emma chuckled.

"To answer your question… I don't think your Maker sent anyone against us. It simply created people, allow the living to see day light (for most of them, anyway), then just watch what will happen."

"So… our pains and fears are to satisfy His curiosity? To entertain Him?"

Siris looked at the person next to her. Sister Emma was shaking like a leaf, exhausted, in shock. Of course, she doubted about her God. Who wouldn't? Its servants turned against innocent people. The elven woman wasn't the best person to talk religion with; she wasn't clear in what she believed. Not in elven God though, since she recently discovered that the "gods" were—are elves with death issues.

She leaned her head against the wall. To keep one of the twins warm, she bundled the child with her cape. Now, _she_ was freezing. And with the rain not stopping at all, the night seemed to have no end. Emma fell asleep after Siris had a quick look at the woman's wounds: nothing serious, cuts and bruises. In comparison, Siris' ankle looked bad…


	14. Chapter 12: An odd dream

**_New chapter!_**

 ** _Enjoy! Bonne lecture!_**

* * *

 _The Emerald graves were beautiful, as always. Siris enjoyed walking under the tall trees, feeling the fat green grass between her toes. The air was fresh… silent. The animals and the wind must be at sleep, yet the sun was up. Or at least there was light coming through the canopy. No matter. The young elven woman walked toward a ruin. As she walked underneath an arch, the saw a man leaning on his desk. Human, tall, blond curly hair. Knight-Captain Cullen, although he was not wearing his templar armor. Instead, he had on his back only simple civilian clothes; but with a sword handing on his belt. He rose his head, looked right at her._

" _There is a clue you are missing." He said with a soft voice, one she never heard before. "You need to remember."_

" _Remember what?" Siris asked._

" _Healing requires a lot of efforts. But committing a sin only needs one decision." Rainier whispers as he was locked in a small cage hanging from the wooden ceiling._

 _As he talked, Rainier was trying to reach the key of his prison. The key was hanging too, not far from the cage, yet just enough the soldier could only feel it with the tip of his finger. So close yet so far._

" _One is being made." Mother Maryse of the Kirkwall Chantry said, exiting the room through the wall, opening the access towards a desert._

 _Siris followed her. Her feet landed on burning dry sand. The heat was crushing, yet familiar. The young elf started to walk towards distant cliffs. Soon another familiar face joined her walk, white-hair elf named Fenris._

" _No one can know, if you don't tell them." He said. "Don't be a slave."_

" _The Elder One asks for the elf. The healer knows, we have to question her!" Ser Fernand said, facing her, standing under the sun, full tevinter templar armor, few meters in front of her. His skin was glowing with red._

" _But why?" Siris asked with someone else's voice._

" _She knows the Ancient God. She let him loose. He is trouble, but the Orb doesn't work. The Elder One demands answer, and we'll give him that!"_

The sun was high in the sky when Siris opened her eyes. Her foot wasn't hurting anymore. Her head was lighter; but her mind was heavy with thoughts. Was it a dream? She never dreamt of anything quite as strange. All these people: Cullen, Maryse, Rainier, Fenris and Fernand… They all looked so real, yet the environment kept changing, like in a dream. A now, she remembered something important.

Knowledge.

It makes a slave worth something.

It cuts through people like a heated blade.

It destroyed the ground on which kings and queens stood.

Knowledge was what _they_ wanted; whoever "they" might be. This Elder One and his fanatics. That name was familiar… "Elder One".

Memories of her arrival at Redcliff and her time in the small village kept tumbling in a chaotic way in her head. She heard the name before. In the village. She was taking care of Nicolas. Everybody was an asleep, she was exhausted. Why haven't she reacted?

Solas would want to know.

Siris sat on the edge of the bed. She was in a chantry: only a human chantry could put so many representations of Andraste in one's room. The bed was huge, but that was because humans were taller… and because Siris was rather small for her specie. She tried to put a bit of weight on her injured foot. No sign of pain. She stood up: nothing worth of note. She grabbed her clothes: the dress Solas made her; the only one she had leaving the village. It was sad to watch how her last adventure treated the piece of clothing. The clerics tried to mend it back to its prime, but only Solas truly knew how to make a dress pretty it seemed. A shame. Well… at least, now she looks more like a southern elf from an alienage rather than someone's esteemed friend. Less ominous, and less likely to be a victim of theft. Still, she had to be cautious. Humans were unreliable.

Her bag was untouched in a corner, her necklace still around her neck. Siris grabbed her things and left the room. As she went down the stairs, Siris tried to remain as silent as possible. She needed to contact Solas, but trusted no one. If Templars were corrupted, so could the clerics and any other intelligent being who has a problem with the current state of the world. Besides, in a corner of her mind, she could _feel_ Healer watching. Never before Siris could sense the Spirit's link so strongly. Either the Veil was _really_ thin here, or there were _a lot of mages_ around. And from what she could remember of Redcliff Village, it was currently bending other the weight of lots of refugees from the war between mages and templars… The latest news only described more violence, more blood, more victims. Redcliff village was known to have dealings with magic. Siris had the strong impression that the people arguing outside all day were not simple humans.

From the dryness of her throat, Siris remained unconscious during at least three days. She remembered the moment she stepped inside Redcliff: she put one of the twin she was holding on the floor, then fell unconscious. After that, she could only grab straps of her surroundings: voices, conversations, sometimes a face.

As she crept towards the Chantry's backdoor, Siris grabbed in the kitchens a bottle of water and some food. Then, she exited the building. She did not want to speak to Sister Emma. Right before they arrived in the village, the young human made it clear that no matter how much she could sing the Chant of Light, she put the blame about last events on Siris. As such, she refused to see the young elf. It was better this way. Siris never was good at making friends anyway.

"I cannot believe it…!" She muttered as she bypassed the chantry and went further in the village.

How many people was currently living in Redcliff?! She could not swing a stick without hitting someone! Not matter. She had to find somewhere quiet.

From what she could hear, outside of the village was suicidal: Templars and Mages killed anybody and everybody. Down the dock perhaps? She walked past a dwarven merchant, then a small wooden house. Something was wrong about it, but the elf did not care enough to worry about such thing. Besides, she had enough trouble as it was. She walked past a young man talking to a fellow human. He seemed in distress, ashamed. Siris did not understand what he was saying: she did not have the full story. But it was about making a huge mistake when he was a young boy… No matter. Siris walked down the docks and sat on the edge as far as possible from any pair of ears, pointy or not.

For a long moment, Siris remained still. Despite the animation in the village, this part was rather quiet… or at least calming. There was the castle, surrounded by water. The sun was up in a clear blue sky, and its rays reflected on the surface of the water with millions of diamonds. There was a bit of wind, some birds which, despite the area's chaos, remained in the region. For a brief moment, Siris wished she could forget: forget the village, the red templars; forget Kirkwall and the darkspawn attack; forget Tevinter all together. But she couldn't. even if she did not have clues for Solas, Healer chose _her_ to remember a great deal of knowledge. It would not take kindly if Siris ignore her duties. After contacting Solas, the elf will go to the humans and try to be social a bit. Perhaps they need a healer?

The stone hanging on her necklace –now resting in her hand— started to gently glow. Suddenly, Solas appeared in front of her. It was like he was standing on the water's surface, but in truth he was simply standing on solid floor, leaning against a tree trunk. It seemed he "encouraged" his hair to grow back. It was know a series of dark brown long braids growing on the top of his head, laid down on his shoulder and going down his hip. Was it dark brown? The colours were not good.

"An _daran atish'an, lethallan_." He said. " _You look dreadful_."

His mouth was moving, but his voice only echoed in Siris' head.

" _Andaran atish'an, Solas_." She answered. "You should have seen me three days ago."

He frowned in concern. It was strange to see him like that. They did not leave on the best of terms, even if a letter proved the contrary. It was the first time they saw each other since the Village.

"After you left, the village have been attacked by templars all red. I think they are using some sort a lyrium, but I do not have more details. Anyway, they talked and I heard something that might interest you. Are you alone?"

Solas looked around him, walked some distance then cast a spell. He was in the snow.

" _Here should be far enough. Chantry Sisters are nosy, aren't they…_ " He said with a hint of frustration. " _What is it you heard?_ "

Oddly enough, he looked anxious, in his own way. Was he hoping to hear good news?

"Have you heard of an "Elder One"?" Siris asked.

" _No. Does this "Elder One" you are talking about have my orb?_ "

"I'm certain of it. The templars that serve him killed an entire village to catch me, so I could answer questions about you. Whoever that Elder One is, he wants you badly. And not in a good way."

Solas grinned.

Siris remained silent a long moment, before realising the second meaning of her last sentence.

"No... No! Not like that!" she shouted, her face turning red.

Her eyes looked around. No one seemed to have heard her. Good. That did not stop Solas from laughing. It was a nervous laugh, but he seemed to need it.

"Have you managed to make new friends? To find clues?"

Solas calmed down and his expression turn back to his usual cold self.

" _No._ " He said. " _Few are as learned as you. Making simple conversation without hitting some ridiculous superstitions is difficult. Where are you?_ "

"Redcliff Village. Why?"

" _I'm in a village named Haven. We should meet. You know more about this Elder One than I, and with so many templars around, I do not feel safe using our necklaces._ "

"We agree on that much…" Siris muttered while looking around. "Where and when?"

" _The leader of the Chantry, the "Divine" as the humans say, is arranging a grand meeting with the leaders of this war; in a place named "the Temple of Sacred Ashes". I think we should attend, too. Perhaps the templars and the mages there would talk; and in that case, one cannot have too many ears._ "

Siris felt her own ears drop as a reaction. To get there, she'll have to cross the Hinterlands. Which are filled with angry Templars and crazy Mages.

" _I suggest we meet at Haven._ " Solas said. " _Use your healing skills to get inside: it is currently under the Divine's authority, but they are sheltering many refugees who need help. You should not have too much problem, as long as you don't use magic._ "

"Do you know how many bloodthirsty crazy people are standing between me and Haven?!" Siris complained. "I know it's important, but I won't be of use dead!"

" _Calm down._ " Solas sighed.

He gestured and muttered words, and suddenly, the necklace had a knew shine.

" _This should keep they away._ " He said. " _Now, please, join me here. The Conclave will happen in a week. Try to be at Haven before that, if you can._ "

Siris did not have much of a choice. She would have preferred to stay in Redcliff, attending to the wounded and hoping to see the Apprentice Smith and Ser Jean showing up at the gates, alive and well. But it has been three days and from what she gathered: no one arrived since they did. Besides, with so many mages around, Ser Jean would have not been allowed inside the village. As for sister Emma, she wanted to do nothing with the elf; no matter how helpful she was back in the village. Siris had to admit: she was disappointed. She thought she made a friend, like Lady Caravel or Ser Rainier. But it did not happen. No one could blame Emma from being in chock: she was a young chantry sister who lived most of her life in the middle of Orlais' countryside. Still…

Solas gave words of encouragement, then had to cut the communication: some humans were heading his way.

Siris put the necklace back around her neck, stood up and walked toward the rest of the village. Redcliff to Haven… How long of a journey was it? She remembered where the other village were from a map hanging on a wall back at Ser Jean's Chantry. But how long would it take to walk there? Especially with so many obstacles between the elf and her objective?

She could thank of that later. Siris needed supplies. Ah. And she need money to buy food… Perhaps she could appeal to the mages, show the little magic she had to prove she's one of them? It was risky, but only them were distributing food for free. Well… One who tries nothing has nothing. Or not… As Siris arrived at the distribution point, she saw Emma helping. As far as the young human is concern, Siris is no mage.

"…yes. No children. But strong capable can come, has long as they don't slow the group down…" A strong voice said.

There was another gathering at the Hero of Ferelden memorial. Siris approach.

"What's happening?" she asked with the most Ferelden accent she could come up with.

"Good –harmed—Samaritans are offering to escort some of us to the Temple of Sacred Ashes for the Conclave." A man, a mage, answered.

Now _that_ was interesting. Siris used her smallness to find a path through the thick crowd. When she arrived at the centre of the commotion, her mind went blank.

Standing on a crate, a man was trying to bring some order. He was tall, strong. His hair was black and long enough to be held in a bun. He did not have time the shave this morning, but that only made him more handsome, according to the ladies chuckling like teenagers around Siris. He was wearing a blue coat underneath pieces of heavy armor. His shield was handing on the back of his shoulder, a sword on his belt.

He was the same, if not healthier and better outfitted.

Thom Rainier.

* * *

 _ **I hope you like it! New chapter coming soon.**_


	15. Chapter 13 : Ara'val al Atisha

_**New Chapter! Enjoy!**_

* * *

Could it be more awkward?

They left in good terms, but Siris still left her friends' company to wander the woods alone. And know, she barely knew anything about them. To catch up while his team gathered the supplies, Thom Rainier invited the young elf over a drink at the Gull and Lantern. The place was crowded with people: mostly mages. There were a few Tranquils too: it was easy to spot them as they were the only remaining quiet in a corner. But at least people ignore them. Anyone who spotted the human with the elven woman gave them the look; as they knew they were no mages. Apparently, it was vulgar.

"I'm glad you survived. This war is bad. And I've seen my share of battles." Rainier said. "Where have you been?"

"Emerald Graves, for the ruins." Siris simply answer as a waitress put two ales on their table.

"I know you're not exactly fond of alcohol." Rainier said. "but please, humour me. It has been quite some time since I last saw you."

Rainier was one of the very few humans Siris would willingly try to please. If it comforted him to see her drink a bit, then why not? She took a sip… Alcohol was not her thing, in general. But beer or similar drinks were the worst in her opinion. The face she made put a large –relieved—smile on Rainier's face.

Thom Rainier…

He changed since last time they saw each other. He shaved his beard, and now was keeping it short. He did his black hair in a bun. It suited him. But what was the most interesting about him was his armor. Blue coat, metallic pauldron, one arm covered with armor, the other one protected by leather and his shield during combat. On the large leather strap traveling from his shield arm's shoulder to his belt, over the metallic cuirass, was a large disc. It bared a symbol Siris did not know. When she pointed out, the man tried to hide a proud and honest smile. His took it off and offered a closer look. It was a griffin holding a daffodil in its beak. On the over side of the disc was written " _Thom Rainier, "Blackwall" of the Order of Ara'val al Atisha_ ".

" _Ara'val al Atisha_? It's elven." Siris noted.

"It means " _The Long Journey to Peace"_." Rainier agreed.

"Indeed." Siris said, amazed. "What is this order? How did it get its name?"

"Well…"

Rainier took a moment to gather the right words to describe his new family.

"The Ara'val Order is rather new. After you left, I met this Warden who had a problem with his order's authority. He wanted to live by his order's ideals, but the inside politics were too much for him. So, he left the order with some of his brothers and sisters and offered a second chance to people… like me. Not allowed to call themselves "Grey Wardens" anymore, they decided their own organisation. It was the elven member of the group who came out with the name."

"It's a good name." Siris smiled. "And what does "Blackwall" mean?"

"Literally: a black-wall." Rainier grinned. "It doesn't mean anything, it's a title... and a name. The title's equivalent is "Commander"; but the name belonged to the man you started it. He died a few days ago… ."

Rainier seemed sensitive to that particular death. After mentioning it, he talked about the man, this Grey Warden, for half an hour, always with sadness and grief in both his voice and attitude. But He felt truly proud of what he was doing. The Ara'val Order was new, but its good deeds already reached many ears. The members: all criminals seeking redemption, were task to help: defend the defenceless, rebuilt homes, heal the sick, feed the poor. Every small effort was good; as long as they do not fall in their old ways. For Rainier, it was easy. The shame he still feels for the murders he committed kept him in checked. But while drinking his ale, he told Siris they had to give one of the men to guards in Denerim because the man started selling lyrium to civilians. Siris was however wondering about something… Grey Wardens could recruit criminals in the name of the Greater Good. In their mind, if someone has to die, at least let it be for a good cause. To be able of doing that, the Order fought five Blight and had to strike a deal (known as "the Grey Warden Treaties") with the great nations of Thedas. All that took a great deal of efforts, many deaths and centuries of sickened lands. No matter what are this Ara'val Order goals and how much champions of the little people they are, in the nations eyes: criminals are criminals. Especially murderers like Rainier.

The young elf asked the question and Rainier had an answer. He wasn't fooled by the shiny uniform and title. Being a "Blackwall" changed nothing to his current situation, nor to his mind. He was still convinced to be an abomination; but if his efforts allowed others, in the future, to have a second chance in life, to redeemed themselves… then why not give it try? The man had a new light in his eyes, but Siris could still see the shadows of his past cloud them.

When the pints were empty ("Blackwall" made Siris a favour by finishing hers), the two got out of the tavern: the looks on them were beginning to feel awkward. The young elf explained the simpliest way possible what happened to her these last few months. The lest weeks were mot entertaining, but she kept herself from telling her friend who she met Solas. Telling him she was captured by revenants then forced to free an ancient being most people call "elven god" would not make things easy. However, she did consider telling him the truth. Having another mind and pair of eyes looking for that blighted magic orb could be beneficial… However, it belonged to Solas; and he made it clear that he wanted a minimum of humans knowing about that artefact. And Siris could not blame him. In her researches, back when she was a slave in Tevinter, she read ancient scriptures about these orbs. Meant to cumulate magic power other time, they were extremely powerful objects used both for archiving greater knowledge, building empires… and destroying them. In the wrong hands… Siris preferred not to think of it. It was hard enough to adjust to the South, process all the knowledge Healer she injecting in her brain anytime it could and deal with Solas' ego. Imagining a catastrophe would not help the young elf to feel better.

"You seek passage to Haven, then?" Rainier said. "If your friend is worried about the Conclave, I can't blame him. My team and I will leave in the afternoon. You are welcome to join."

"Thank you, _Domne_." Siris said… then closed her eyes as Rainier gave her the look.

"I believe we've been through this already." He sighed.

"I apologies." The elf said. "Old habits."

"I know how hard they die…"

The two friends remind silent the rest of the walk towards the Ara'val's squad. There were three humans including Rainier, two dwarves, and one qunari. All were relatively nice. Or at least polite. The qunari was not talkative, which wasn't a bad thing according to Rainier second-in-command, Ser Emline Vaquier. Apparently, the giant was intelligent enough to use a maul on the right person –the enemy— but that was pretty much it. Concerning Emline Vaquier, she used to be a Grey Warden, and an Orlesian noblewoman before that. After making some wrong decision while playing "the Game", she ended up in such disgrace that only the wardens could help her save face. She was not a gentle person. When she fell in Siris' field of vision, the elven woman could not help but imagine a cold intelligent woman with an addiction to sex and power. She made both men and women unconfortable, no matter what species these were. Even the dogs did not want to get anywhere near in fear of being killed or raped… and Siris was certain Emline Vaquier would have sex with animals if it could give her a bit of power. How she became Rainier's second-in-command did not involve any sexual activities however… not with the man himself anyway. The Blackwall whispered he did not want to understand: one day she was nothing more but a foot soldier; the next day she was captain under his command. And the order came from the very top.

"I don't want to know why Clarisse agreed to this…" Rainier muttered as the team was packing their things. "Can't be innocent…"

Clarisse was the one who took the lead of the order after Blakwall passing. She used to be a Warden too (still was as far as the Blight was concerned), but followed the Warden-Constable when he asked her to help him in his project. Commander-Blackwall Clarisse was apparently a honourable woman with principles and had a heart bigger than the world. However, her harsh sense of Right and Wrong did not seem to be preoccupied with being influenced by a woman of little virtue such as Vaquier.

But all this was gossip. Siris found them entertaining but useless. She was more concerned about the people Rainier's team was escorting to the Temple of Sacred Ashes. Indeed, she was part of a small group: two elves (including her) and four humans. It was too much for Rainier, who was worried about being slowed down while Templars and apostate alike were fighting. The chances of being spotted were greater. But two of the human mages were simply insufferable. They would have follow them whatever the Ara'val's squad wanted it or not. As for the rest, Siris quickly learnt _not_ to like them, even less to trust them. The elven mage, a young man with blond hair and blue eyes, tried to make friend with Siris. But when he told her that he approved of this rebellion, that the mages should be free, the ex-slave did not wish to hear more from him. She was all for freedom; no one could question that. But this war hurt too many people already and these rebel mages can't think of anything else than their own selfish reasons. Southern Circles were not ideal: Siris did visit the Gallows in Kirkwall, and was still terrified of the place. But if the notion of "free mages in the south" meant killing innocent people in the name of power, or knowledge, or worst: freedom… Then let all these magic idiots be locked in prisons.

Siris did not speak her mind on the subject: her life in Tevinter taught her to remain silent even in the most atrocious of situations. However, breathing words were not necessary for the mages in the group to understand her opinion regarding the rebellion. They said nothing… for the moment. But the young woman could feel how upset they were: their eyes following every movement she made, their ears catching every word she articulated. The elven woman could read their faces like Healer can read her thoughts: _She's going to give us up. Telle the templars where we are, where we're going. We must act before it happens. But the Blackwall seamed to be friend with her… you're right. We'll wait for the right moment: losing our only protection against the templars is suicidal. And once they have their back turned, what should we do? We aren't doing to_ kill her _, are we? Why not? She's trouble. She doesn't speak right, her accent is strange, she's a dalish elf and hates all mages. She did not say that. She said nothing, and that's the problem. She's hiding something. She a danger. You're right. We'll be careful. When she's alone, we'll deal with her_.

They were still inside Redcliff and Siris already made enemies… It was quick. And foolish. However, was telling a lie any better? Reading expressions became so much easier once Healer taught her how to watch a face for clues of symptoms and hurt. Was it a blessing or a curse? Siris could not decide. But it didn't matter how she could tell the mages –in particular the _shemlens_ —wanted her dead. They wanted her dead. That alone should be enough to worry her. She hasted her footsteps, to join Rainier in front of the group.

"You come to me already?" He asked with a smile. "Still trouble with making friends?"

"They don't want to be friends." Siris said, conscious her anxiety made her tevinter accent even worst than usual. And Rainier spend enough time with her in the past to know that. However, he did not understand the exact reasons.

"It will be fine. We'll haste and arrive at Haven in no time, without a scratch."

" _Si_ _vos dictus, ma amicus_ …" Siris whispered.

"What does this mean?"

"It means, " _if you say so, my friend_ "." Siris explained. "Let's focus on the road. I want to join Solas in one piece."

He patted her shoulder and kept moving. She followed without a word. She felt homesick. _Homesick_. Tevinter was no home to her, yet she missed it. Even as a slave, life was easier: once one knows how to one's master behave, adopting the right attitude made things survivable; and life became easy: you follow order, you fulfil your duties, you are polite and obedient, never complain in public… Repeat as many time as necessary. With any luck, your get in its good grace and the master –provided he or she is a mage— don't milk your blood for his or her rituals. This simple life was the reason why so many slaves don't run away: life could be worst. Even if Siris tried to be a good pet, a good servant, her studies as scribe opened a window to what her life could be… and could not stop dreaming of it ever since. Running away did not work, and she ended up with markings on her face she despise, with cuts on her wrists she had to hide… However, people did not hate her. Being a slave was almost natural elves in Tevinter. They were overlooked, invisible. In the south, her existence was sign of trouble and no matter how she tried to be discreet, she was still noticed by others: dark skin "knife-ears" with a strange accent and dalish scars on her face… Rainier was good to her, a real friend; and Solas… Well Solas was not a "master", which made him somewhat not as bad as he could be.

For the first time since she escaped Tevinter, Siris wished she could be back there, doing what she always did: cleaning and cooking, copying and reading, studying and learning. She missed the quiet in the library, the friendly chats in the kitchen, the exchanges of tips while doing the laundry. She missed the warm too: stepping outside and feeling the air around her pressing on her skin; the warm sand under her bare feet. She missed the comfort of having a roof above her head while she slept; not having to worry about food; or rebel mages, crazy apostates, rogue templars, red templars, ancient proud elven "gods" or powerful orbs of Doom falling in the hands of a potentially even more dangerous beings.

As she stayed close to Rainier, Siris surprise herself hoping that once in Haven, she'll meet with Solas, they'll both go on a short hunt, find the orb and to back to rebuilding their lives; without a hint of trouble.

It was a pious wish.

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 _ **You liked or not this chapter? Tell me what you thing in the comment section below, or show your appreciation be pressing the "favourite" button. I'll know what to improve!**_

 _ **Bonne lecture!**_


	16. Chapter 14 : The Road to Haven

_**Siris is making great progress in her quest to improve her life! Could it be called "progress"? At least things are changing!**_

 _ **New Chapter, enjoy!**_

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Southerners have many different words when speaking Common, in opposition with the "Northern Common". There was one expression in particular Siris learnt quite early during her travels in the wet land named Ferelden, and it was "petrichor". It was a short version for "that weird smell outside, after a freaking rainstorm that ruined my day yesterday". "Petrichor" sounded much better, but it was difficult for Siris to spell it.

As a former orlesian soldier, a child of the Free Marches and traveller of the Ferelden, Thom Rainier –also called "Blackwall"—was in possession of a large variety of words; and he agreed to teach them to Siris. In her mind, improving her vocabulary could only help her to feel welcome in the South. However, unlike in Tevinter, most citizens knew how to write and read. As a former scribe, Siris knew how to do that, but only in certain languages, most of them dead: ancient elvish (modern elvish never was written, or at least not in Tevinter for obvious reasons of slavery and scarce Dalish Clans), old tevene and modern tevene (the second not being often used, even in daily conversations) and ancient Common. Ancient Common was the very first version of the language the dwarves made to simplify trades; centuries ago. Nowadays, "Common" is not unified anymore: Northern Common and Southern Common, even with a lot of similarities, had also a lot of differences. A same word could have different meanings wherever you speak it. Some words existed in Tevinter but were unknown in the Free Marches. Since most Southerners never travelled North, and most Northerners never travels South, this problem was not, per se, a "problem". However, for people like Siris it was a "pain in the fucking ass" as Blackwall liked to describe it every time he had to explain a word to his elven friend.

As they were heading to Haven, the group escorted by the Ara'val Order made few stops. Sometimes it was because the mages were tired: being locked in a Circle most of their life did not help build any sort of endurance. Others times it was simply to rest during the night. Oddly enough, traveling at night was more dangerous than during the day. Why? The Templars of course. The rogue templars fully expect to find mages easier at night: the use of magic creates light, the idea that "at night it's safe" lead their pray into their traps, etc… Blackwall and his troop traveled in the area enough to know that it was better to make camp at night and be ready for battle instead of walking straight in a trap and being slaughtered.

Is has been three days since they left Redcliff and Siris only left Blackwall's side when nature demanded it. The man was intelligent enough to guess something was wrong: he knew the woman enough, but most of all, he knew the mages looks towards her _too well._ They were up to something in their distrust. As they settle camp for the third night, he reminded the group of basic survival rules: don't back-stab the people who could save your life; then reminded everyone's role. Siris being the only truly talented Healer around forced the mages to back off a little: they knew a lot of theory about healing spells; but few knew that using fire to scar an injury was stupid, painful and prone to result in life-frightening infections. Then, Siris observe the man organising the night shifts; and set the camp up. Then, the young elf noticed the qunari was doing nothing and offered to have a look at his burn. Earlier in the day, the group was attacked by rogue templars, and the qunari had a bad cut. One of the mages thought burning it would settle the problem. It did not: the qunari screamed in pain and lash out on the mage, crushing his head with a rock. One less _shemlen_ mage who wanted Siris dead, but it was still worrying. Fortunately, the qunari was calm with Siris. Was it because her height made her looked like a child? Or perhaps it was an undetectable influence of Healer other the oxman? No matter. He let her have a look at his chest. The cut originally started at his shoulder and came down to the opposite pectoral. The blade was not as sharp as it might have been in the past: instead of cutting, it tore the skin and the flesh in a gruesome manner. The burning the mage tried on the man did not fully cauterize the injury; and the burnt part looked as bad as the rest. Fortunately, it was nothing Siris could not handle. In her head, useful memories of Healer's previous student showed similar situation. The elf offered a bit of alcohol to the qunari; once he had a sip, used the (little) rest on the injury. He growled and voiced his discontent. But her method was not magic and did not try to make it worst; he put some effort into keeping his violent urge in check. Especially with Blackwall shooting daggers with his eyes at him, ready to shop him down with his sword if the oxman decided to make the wrong move. The qunari was not feeling better once Siris finished her work. But his injury looked far prettier than before. As thanks, he growled at the mages how stayed at a fair distance from both the oxman and the elven woman.

Siris sat down near one of the fire, with Blackwall. She took a parchment and a coal shard to write knew words.

" _Chevalier_ " Blackwall said. "C-H-E-V-A-L-I-E-R. In orlesians, it means "knight", but is used for a specific type of soldier, and have nothing to do with the Templars. Most of them are nobles, knows the Game at the very least by reputation. They serve as officers in the Orlesian Army, and represent Noble house. They are different from _Champions_ , because these ones don't give a flying shit about politics: they fight for glory, posterity and most of all for what is right. Champions don't need benefactors like the Chevaliers do, because their reputation only allows opens pockets."

"Were you a _chevalier_?" Siris asked.

Blackwall had a nervous chuckle.

"Hell no. I was just a Captain." He said. "I was trained to be Champion, though. Did not go well, as you may have noticed."

Siris carefully spelled the word on her parchment. Orlesian words were difficult, foreign. Tevene, in comparison, was easier to spell and pronounce.

"Tell me, Little Bird, when and where did you learn all that crazy healing stuff you did on the qunari?" Blackwall asked.

"You know who taught me." Siris answered.

"Oh. _That_ person…" The warrior said with unease. "Not a… well… (he lowered his voice) demon?"

"No. Spirit." Siris whispered. "Not "here", though. Still in the Fade. Can't hear it when no magic around. It shows me many things when there is magic, and print many memories during my sleep. My friend in Haven confirmed that."

"He's a mage?"

"Yes."

There was no point hiding it. The chances that "Blackwall" Rainier met Solas one day were thin. Not impossible though. Which meant that if the two men were to meet, it was better if Blackwall doesn't get spooked by the ancient elf's magic powers.

The silence that follow could not get thicker. The mages stayed around their fire, the Ara'val team navigated between them and Blackwall. Then, most of these people went to sleep, leaving Rainier and Siris to take the first round of watch. Scouts did not spot any templars or apostate around. But the world was running short with luck these last months… nothing happened while the two friends were up. The qunari took over.

When Siris laid her head on her traveling bag and closed her eyes, she could only feel exhaustion. Her ankle was a bit numb, her body was made with only sore muscles...

 _As she opened her eyes, Siris quickly stood up and seek for what one could eventually call a "dress". The word was used loosely, as it was, in truth, a jute bag used for potatoes. Most people wore that here. The once staying naked were on another building, living close to the Master's quarters._

" _You have to hurry." Camilius said. "The mistresses were mad last night. The Master went for knew slaves. Until then, we're on our own."_

 _Siris nodded and followed the human slave in the mansion's corridor. They crossed the courtyard to reach the kitchens. It was still very early in the morning. In there was already working a lot of slaves. Anxiously rushing the meals for the masters; all heard what happened._

" _Who did we lose?" Siris asked as she put an apron on and helped Amelia with the apples._

" _Rosia, Vicius, Wilhelm, Balaz, Julius, Tamzen, Imir, Brynjolf, Xanders and Prenia." Camilius shouted from across the kitchen._

" _Wilhelm made the young mistress Hannais mad, so she and her older sister used him to fuel a ritual. Then, he wasn't enough." Amelia said. "The master was mad that we made his daughters mad. I just came back from the Others' quarters… it's a mess. Once the meal is ready, you and me have been task to go there and clean."_

 _Siris remained silent. She was not looking forward to that. But the meal was cook soon after the discussion, so the two elven slaves took brooms, rags and buckets of water and went to the Other's Quarters. "A mess" was an understatement. The girls and boys were still unconscious, covered with sperm and oil._

" _Don't stare, Siris." Amelia whispered. "Be glad you aren't with them."_

 _Siris turned her eyes away, and cleaned the floor, evacuated the ripped sheets, open the windows to let the foul smell out. They changed the candles, cleaned the slaves then headed outside. From the corner of her eyes, Siris spotted a girl. A young elf, freshly caught by the slavers, and bought by the Master. She came from the famous Free Marchers, used to live in an "alienage". Tonight, the Master fucked everybody in the room, but it seemed the girl had the worst. The girl in question had woken up a few moments ago. When Siris and Amelia went towards the door, she stood up and headed to the window._

 _Siris saw it._

 _But let the sinister noise of a cracking neck on the ground three floor below echoed in all the mansion._

Siris was awake by Blackwall, as the group was moving again. It was early morning, all have eaten already. Rainier thought Siris needed sleep. He could not have guessed how much she wished he woke her up sooner. But the elven woman said nothing. She woke up, took a piece of bread her friend gave her and ate it while following the others.

At the end of the day, the group advance enough in Ferelden to see in the distance the famous Temple of Sacred ashes. Before it, Haven, and between these two location and the group, waves of mages and templars from all corner of Thedas.

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 _ **Next chapter very soon!**_


	17. Chapter 15 : The Temple of Sacred Ashes

_**New chapter of "Siris from Tevinter"**_

 _ **I hope you'll enjoy it!**_

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The sky was clear. It was so blue, that if the snow around her wasn't so cold, Siris would have thought she was back in Tevinter. Thankfully, she was not. However, the South had trouble of its own. The war between mages and templars was violent since Kirkwall went completely mad; six months or so ago. Six months… time flies fast. During that time, Siris did many things: she survived darkspawn, found a good friend in Ser Rainier -now called "Blackwall" by his allies of the Ara'val al Atisha Order. She visited Kirkwall and forced the templars there to do something about the _malificar_ bullying the alienage. Well… "force" was a big word. She shamed to guilt the Knight-Captain –a decent human named Cullen— who then notice her disappearance when she got capture. Then, Ser Fenris was able to get his revenge and freedom by killing the Magister Danarius. Then Lady Caravel, at the Circle of Ostwick confirmed there was something between Siris and the Fade, but could not tell what. The answer was given by the ancient elven "god" named Solas who Sirs was forced by revenants to free from his prison. Then he noticed his magic orb have been stolen and Siris offered to help him retrieve it. Solas ditched her in a small village in the mountains; right after that a group of templar feeding on a strange kind of lyrium showed up. Few days later: chaos for everyone… yeay! Fleeing to Redcliff, Siris contacted Solas about that "Elder One" she heard the templars talk about; and the ancient elf asks her to join him at Haven, as the Conclave was coming with great haste now. Siris crossed path with Rainier "Blackwall" again and he agreed to escort her and some mages with his group. The mages did not trust her, so they wanted Siris dead "to be sure".

But they arrived at Haven before they could do anything against the young elf.

And Haven was _crowded_. How could a village be so full of people without suffering from the overpopulation was a mystery. Faith perhaps? Hope? This conclave organised by the White Divine was the source of many conversation: the Templars will win? The mages will win? Will a consensus be found? Circle or no circle? What about the little people caught in the middle? Will there be compensation for the ruined homes and crops? And what will happen if any of these decisions is taken? Will the Chantry honour its engagements? Will the Templar Order follow quietly and stop screaming "IT'S THE MAKER'S WILL" while butchering innocent people with their swords? Will the Mages stop to be selfish idiots?

So many questions and so little answers… One thing was sure though: humans were still pricks. First, they refused Siris' help with the wounded, then accepted her offer to help but kept calling her "knife-ear" and/or "thief". They only give her half a meal per day, and it's always cold; when the humans healers have at least a full warm meal. What about a place to sleep? Cold hard floor underneath the Chantry, near the prison cells. Yeay. And was her opinion on medicine important? Noooooo. Let's not forget humans are the centre of everything: faith, strength, problems and knowledge. What would an elven woman know about healing burns and cuts? Sure, the mages were faster, but living in a Circle most of your life does not mean you are good at healing. And the rest of the healers strongly recommend putting oil on burns, when in truth it makes the wound worst.

Fortunately, Siris was not working with these idiots because she wanted too. She had to justify her presence here, so no one would notice the apostate she was meeting every night behind the Chantry.

"Heard anything?" He asked her in elvish, while sharing a warm newly cooked piece of meat.

Siris bite in the food without thinking twice, starving. She felt Solas eyes on her. He was disgusted at the way she ate: not because she was filthy, but because she was so hungry she did not care about anything else than eating what he gave her, eating with her fingers, eating as if she won't see food in the near future. She felt his eyes on her and knew exactly what he was thinking. For an ancient elf, Solas was quite easy to read. She swallowed the last piece and wiped her mouth with her sleeve. He gave her water, she drank it. Then took another piece of meat. Last time they talked, it was four days ago. She only had two meals, dry, cold and tasteless.

"No one talked about an "Elder One", nor an orb with magic properties." Siris answered in elvish. "I saw many staffs, various magical foci, books about magic… But nothing corresponding your description. What about you?"

"The human "Divine" is here. Tomorrow, the talks at the Temple will start. With any luck, the war will stop and it will be easier to look for my orb." Solas said. "Also, there are more Templars than expected here, but they are too busy picking fights with the mages to notice me listening and asking question around."

"Then… are we in a dead-end?"

Solas remained silent for a moment, thinking about the situation.

"I don't think so. You heard the templars in the village talking about this Elder One who could not make my orb work. There are no reasons to doubt your ears." He finally said. "The Conclave will be a better opportunity than today: it will separate people: the ones at the Temple, the others minding their own business. Whoever this Elder One is, if he is here, then he'll be at the Templer tomorrow. If he is, I'd like you to come with me at the Temple. We'll be able to cover more ground with the two of us. Finding him won't be hard with I'm not serching alone."

Siris agreed. She could not wait for this problem to be solve. When the Orb will be recover Solas, he will go rebuilt his life. These last days, he talked about either building an elven-friendly settlement or finding an ancient elven temple and lay to sleep until the End of the World wakes him up. He was curious about this world, but missed his even more.

As for Siris, she'll go looking for a place to settle. Traveling was good and all, but she missed waking up in a bed and not worry about the next day. In this home, she was hoping to be able to do research about the lyrium, its addiction, the withdrawal attempted by the bravest. Not in a city though… The woods? Or a village? She was done with mountains and elven ruins, but could make her project work in a village. Perhaps she could present her project to the Templar Order or the Chantry. If they are interested, Siris could gain some financial support, lyrium stocks, volunteers and a place to safely do her researches. Yes, this was a nice plan, one Siris could be proud of if she manages to make it real. She went to bed thinking about details like how to order special ingredients for the food, or how much lyrium can be given to safely start a withdrawal process. How many lyrium-addicts will trust their health to her? Will the Chantry help? If she obtains good results, perhaps she could look into the effect of Lyrium on dwarves? Would Ozammar be interested by an agreement? Siris was already imagining how grateful the Templars would be to be free of lyrium without suffering… But then, she remembered she has still a long way to go before obtaining any solid results; even further to go before human southerners trust a Tevinter ex-slave, elven woman, with dalish scars on her face. The way she was treated here, in Haven, gave her all the reasons to believe that it won't change, no matter if Solas finds his orb, no matter if the Conclave is successful.

The young elf closed her eyes. She reached for Healer. It was present, quietly watching from the Fade. They talked a lot. About the Art of Healing, about how various cultures deals with various health issues. Healer explained the few hard facts about dreams and their use for the body and the mind. Siris told the spirit about her thoughts on lyrium. Eventually, the elven woman came to a point where she could no longer concentrate and fell asleep.

Someone touched her shoulder. Siris recognised Solas voice, whispering to gently wake her up. Without thinking, she stood up, got dressed, gathered her things and followed him outside the tent. It was an early freezing morning. The cold was atrocious. The snow was the worst: how could Solas walk in it without loosing his toes? Siris had to wrap her feet with clothes so they won't fall off.

Anyway. The two of them started to make they way to the temple. Despite the darkness, there were already a lot of people on the road. Soldiers, templars, mages, clerics, merchants of all kind… Siris even spotted shifty-looking dwarves, giant Tal-Vashoff mercenaries, few of Blackwall's men (but not him as he had to go back to their Head Quarters in the Storm Coast). In the crowd she spotted a very odd mercenary. Elven male, long red hair, pale skin with green dalish tattoos –Siris recognised Mythal's brand. He was armed with a bow, looking around carefully, but not paying attention to any mercenary bands around. Siris would have looked away if the man did not look so confident. He was not lost. He was not waiting for anyone. Using the legendary light-weight of his elven-blood, he ran on the surface of the snow without trouble, going ahead of everybody. In only a few minutes, the strange elf had already disappeared.

"Did you see that elf?" Siris asked.

Solas lowered his head to look in her direction, but it was too late. She described the man she saw and her feelings about him. Something was not right; and that sensation became more certain each step further to the Temple.

They could see the Temple of Sacred Ashes quite well now. In an hour or so, they'll be there. But Solas suddenly froze. His eyes glimmered in the dark in a way Siris did not like. She touched his arm, he grabbed her head in reaction. He was tensed, like something was happening in his head.

Solas took her in his arms, and magically ran behind a wall, hiding them from the Temples.

"What the—"

The grounded shook. People started to scream and run the other way. Heat melted the snow and ice around them. A blast destroyed everything. Solas and Siris tried to resist, but the wind took them.

The tevinter elf, as she flew in the air, felt her insides move with the speed and the height. Her eyes saw the panick of the people still on the ground, others were trying to instinguish the fire on their clothes, others were burning alive. And Siris saw it.

The Temple was still exploding, like time was having trouble to flow. A large green line shoot itself from the ground, destroying the Temple…

Siris saw Solas flying toward her, shouting "Give me your hand!". She stretched out her arm, her hand, her fingers. She saw Solas' eyes go blue as his magic pushed her to him. Holding on him, Siris saw the ground coming closer faster, and faster, and faster… they landed on the fattest field of snow.

But only silence greeted the impact.

 _Though darkness closes, I am shielded by flame._

 _Fin_ ** _  
_**


	18. Huh? What? What's going on?

**_« What ? You thought this would be easy?"_**

 _ **Hey guys! How are you doing? I hope you like the fiction "Siris of Tevinter" as much as I do! If you have any suggestions about the main character, or if you noticed language mistakes I keep making, leave a comment in the section below.**_

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But the real question here is : **What is going on? The end? Already?!**

Well, yes… and no!

Life is tough, and time is precious! As my In-Real-Life existence is getting more complicated by the day, I though I could end this fiction at the Temple of Sacred Ashes.

 **"Yes, but the ending if the fu… cliff-hanger!"** One might ask.

Yes, I know!

It's kind of the point you see. If this fiction is finish, _I'm not done with Siris_. I'm planning to continue writing down her adventures in another fiction called "Siris of the Inquisition". I let you guess why. But that particular fiction still needs some work before I can think about publishing it.

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 _ **On that note, I hope you enjoyed "Siris from Tevinter", that you'll enjoy "Siris of the Inquisition", or any other fan-fictions I wrote!**_

 _ **Bonne Lecture!**_


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